Reaper Murders
by Alex L
Summary: Somenone's murdering mutants in Bayville...
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One: Murder of One  
  
Here's something I've been thinking about for a while. I may or may not continue, depending on feedback.  
  
As always, characters are Marvel's, but the story is mine.  
  
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Rain bitterly beat down the streets of Bayville that autumn night. The silvery light from the moon shone down in the puddles. The brisk wind rustled the trees and swirled scattered trash left in the gutter. Usually, nights in Bayville were quiet. However, this one was quite different. Outside an abandoned building that had once been a glass factory, several squad cars were parked outside with their lights flashing. Uniformed officers were spread out, combing through overgrown bushes with flashlights and Dobermans.  
  
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Detective Drew Walsh slammed the driver's side door of her 1990 blue-gray Dodge Aries, pulling her black trench coat around her small frame. A young detective who was moving through the ranks of the Bayville police department, she was recently moved to the homicide department. Her youthful features made it easy for one to mistake her for an entering college student. However, it was quite incompatible with the harsh realities she had observed during her career.  
  
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The heavy rain plastered her copper hair to her head and the pancake holster she was wearing underneath her trench coat grinded against her ribs. Surveying the crime scene in front of her, she muttered under her breath how she hated rain. It made combing for clues ten times harder than it should have been, sometimes washing away precious evidence. Hopefully, there were experienced officers on the scene..  
  
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She pulled back the yellow crime tape and jogged over to the side of a young officer, who was kneeling down on the ground. She received some reprieve from the driving rain from when she stepped under the makeshift tent over the scene. Slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, she asked in a firm voice, "Hi, officer. So, what have we got here?"  
  
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The officer peered up at the cherubic-faced detective and shook his head. From the pained expression on his face and how young he was, he appeared as if this was his first crime scene. "We got the call from a nightwatch man for the building across the street about ten minutes ago. There's a dead Jane Doe here, who couldn't be more than 14 or 15 years old."  
  
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"Any ID?" Walsh inquired, pressing her lips together.  
  
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The young officer quickly shook his head. "No identification found on her.. And she's.."  
  
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A five-year veteran of the department, Walsh patted him on the shoulder gently. "It's OK, officer," she told him, realizing that what he had seen probably left him shocked. "I can take it from here. Anyone talking to the nightwatch man?"  
  
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"Yes, ma'am. Officer Darling's over there with him." He nodded in the direction of the other side of the building.  
  
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"Good, good. Go scour the scene with the other officers. The M.E.'s been called?"  
  
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"Yes, ma'am." The officer straightened to his full height and covered his mouth with a pale hand. Then he sighed, walking away. It's hard when they're so young..  
  
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Walsh crouched down over the white sheet that covered an immobile mass underneath. As many as times as she had done this, the process of examining a body never got any easier. Her dark eyes narrowed as she grasped the corner of the white sheet and carefully pulled it back.  
  
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The officer was correct in his estimation. The deceased was an adolescent female between the ages of 14 and 15 years of age. She was fully clothed, but they couldn't rule out sexual assault until the medical examiner did a full autopsy. Her black hair was completely tangled around her face, which might have indicated some sort of struggle on the ground before her death. No jewelry that would have immediately identified her. They would have to take prints and dental imprints to match, as well as post a picture to missing persons and maybe put enter the information into the federal database if she wasn't local.  
  
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Looking over the body now, a preliminary cause of death could have come from some sort of asphyxiation. There were a series of bruises around the victim's neck. As far as other injuries were concerned, there were cuts around her forehead and a missing section of skin around that area.  
  
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Upon closer inspection of the body, Walsh noted that the girl's skin was gray and baggy, particularly around her face. She was a mutant, Walsh mused, tilting her head to the side. She reached out and fingered a flap of skin with her gloved hand. Given this, the impending investigation would have to be treated a little differently. The department had been facing a severe budget crisis and the ranks were frayed. Cases involving mutants, particularly hate crimes, were often placed at the bottom of the list, which was consistent with the wary mutant atmosphere in town.  
  
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A grim expression was cast over the detective's features as she picked up the girl's wrist. If she were working with more experienced officers, they would have bagged her hands so that no contamination would take place. Any hairs, skin, or fibers that would be collected from underneath her fingernails would be guaranteed to be untainted. Fortunately, Walsh was always prepared. She pulled out two plastic bags from the pocket of her trench coat. Very slowly, she turned her hand over so that the victim's palm was facing up. Her dark eyes narrowed when she made another discovery.  
  
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The skin had been completely removed.  
  
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Blood dribbled thickly on the wet ground underneath. Walsh checked the other hand, finding it in the same condition. Quickly, she bagged the hands and stood up. This was definitely going to be a long night.  
  
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This evening found Hank McCoy sighing wearily inside the mansion of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. He stood in front of the bay window, watching the rain stream down. Behind him stood a group of his students, including Bobby Drake, Sam Guthrie, Ray Crisp, Kurt Wagner, and Evan Daniels, who were eagerly awaiting his response to their request--- taking out the Blackbird for a brief ride in order to work on their film project for school. Immediately, he wanted to say no, but wanted to ask an important question of his own first.  
  
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"Why can't you drag Scott on your little adventures for once?" he asked, turning around to face the group of expectant students.  
  
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Bobby shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. He was thoughtful before addressing the question. "Well, to put it simply, Scott's a dork."  
  
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"He acts like he's better than us," Ray added, pushing his orange bangs from his wide forehead.  
  
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"Yeah, he acts like he's Mr. Mature or something," Sam piped up. Always the polite Southern gentleman, he was reluctant to say anything too derogatory about Scott. At the same time, he didn't want to look like a total geek in front of his friends.  
  
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"He doesn't know it, but ve saw him vatching Powerpuff Girls once," Kurt told everyone.  
  
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His roommate, Evan Daniels, raised a cynical brow at him. "Kurt, you watch Powerpuff Girls, too."  
  
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Kurt's yellow eyes flashed at him. "Shut up, Evan. At least I don't vatch 'The View.'"  
  
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Evan swallowed hard, dark eyes guileless. "Why, uh, whatever do you mean, Kurt?" He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.  
  
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Kurt snorted, tail swinging behind him. "I know about all the tapes stashed under your bed," he announced smugly.  
  
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Ray's gray eyes widened in surprise. Then he punched Evan on the arm. "Hey," he cried, "you said you were hiding ultimate fighting tapes under there!"  
  
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Evan sighed. He knew he was caught. Might as well as admit to the truth in spite of the teasing that lay ahead. "I have a thing for Star Jones, okay?"  
  
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Bobby looked away from Evan, brown eyes filled with mock disappointment. "I don't even know who you are anymore," he said in a low voice. Then he peered over at Mr. McCoy, who was struggling to hide his amusement with the situation. "So, what do you say? Can we take the Blackbird out for a spin?"  
  
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Before Hank could say no definitively, the soft, gravelly voice of Professor Xavier intoned in his head. Hank, I need to speak with you immediately. Please meet me in my study.  
  
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"Yes, Charles," Hank turned to the students and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, boys, but I have a meeting with the Professor." With that he began to walk in the direction of Professor Xavier's study.  
  
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"What about the plan?" Bobby called after him. "You never gave us an answer, Mr. McCoy."  
  
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Hank turned around, blue eyes amused. "I'm going to have say no to that idea."  
  
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The décor of the famous study was reminiscent of a converted carriage house in London, which had been a childhood vacation home. The walls were a glossy midnight blue, which were accented by lush, red velvet curtains, ancestral tartans and jacquards, and gold-framed sketches of horses, jockeys, and handwritten poems. Hurricane vases with brass trim sat on the coffee table next to textbooks and notebooks. Throughout the study, clean- lined chairs were upholstered in carriage-blanket plaids, while quilted velvet and suede pillows and drapes appeared to recall padded horse blankets. Navy pillows edged in gold trim inspired by cavalry epaulets, and gold buttons and leather buckles evoked crisp, tailored riding jackets. Beautifully appointed campaign furniture crafted from honey-hued mahogany and detailed with brass trim and mounts added to the English theme. There was a handkerchief-top game table that opened to reveal a leather-bound playing surface, while the traditional cane-sided sofa with sleek black leather cushions commanded the attention of the room. On the sofa, silk scarves featuring belted equestrian motifs were made into luxurious oversized throw pillows backed in navy suede.  
  
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Despite the classic feel of the space, there were contemporary touches. These touches could be traced to the tartan chairs with nail head trim and aged walnut trim, a red ostrich-leather ottoman with the same type of trim and recessed casters, and the Secretariat chest of drawers with its clean lines, honey-hued finish, and brass corner brackets. While the walls were dark, there was plenty of lighting from the floor-length windows and the numerous brass floor lamps.  
  
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Professor Charles was seated in his sleek, steel-framed wheelchair by the French doors that led to the balcony overlooking the grounds of the mansion. His face was set in a serious expression as he folded his hands and set them underneath his chin. His dark eyes traveled to the door at the other end of the room.  
  
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Hank McCoy peered inside. "You wanted to see me?"  
  
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A shadow of a smile crossed the Professor's face. Then it quickly faded. "Yes, Hank. Please come in."  
  
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Hank closed the door behind his hulking form. As he entered the room, he noticed that they were not alone. Leaning against the fireplace was Logan, clad in his blue jeans, boots, and standard black T-shirt. Unsmiling as usual, he nodded at Hank in greeting. Seated across from the Professor was Ororo Munroe, another instructor and Evan's aunt. Her long, white hair swung loose, which framed her exotic features as she smiled up at Hank. She motioned for him to sit in the armchair next to her.  
  
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"What's this all about?" Hank inquired, raking a large hand through his thick blue hair. He settled in his chair, anticipating some news about changes to the curriculum at the Institute or something mundane like that.  
  
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The Professor took a deep breath before speaking. "A mutant teenager was murdered tonight," he began grimly, "I was alerted to her when she used her powers before she was killed." He could still see her blasting rays of lights from her hands as she struggled to live.  
  
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"Oh, no," Ororo whispered, placing a hand over her mouth.  
  
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Xavier continued. "However, by the time I attempted a link with the child, she was already dead." He shook his head, clearly disappointed with himself.  
  
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"What about the killer?" Logan asked, his voice gruff but filled with as much concern about the situation. In the back of his mind, he was contemplating tracking the slime ball himself. "You get a read on whoever did it?"  
  
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The Professor shook his baldhead ruefully and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "No, Logan, I could not. The person had an incredible mental block on my telepathy. There was no way I could create a link or find out their identity."  
  
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He paused, allowing the instructors to process what he had just said. Then he went on. "It is unclear at this point whether or not this is an isolated incident or whether this will be a pattern of things to come. While this might be somewhat rash, I am instilling a curfew for the Institute until the authorities apprehend the perpetrator or perpetrators. All students are to be back at the mansion by seven-thirty. No exceptions. I am looking to all of you to enforce this."  
  
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"Of course, we will. There is nothing rash about trying to ensure the safety of the students, Charles," Ororo informed him, straightening in her chair. Hank nodded in agreement as well.  
  
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Logan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "The police couldn't catch a fly on the wall. What makes you think they're going to be able to do anything? Besides, protectin' mutants ain't on the top of the list, I'm sure."  
  
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"Even so, there are preventive measures we can take to protect the children here and that's what we're doing." Professor Xavier sighed, realizing his old friend had a point. "I suppose I could go to the police department and offer my help. I heard that they've let go many officers because of the budget cuts."  
  
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"That might be something." Hank tried to give him an encouraging smile. Then he asked, "So, how should we approach this with the children? Knowing some of them, they might not be happy with a simple, 'Because I said so.'"  
  
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The Professor nodded in agreement. "Yes, I am aware of that. Many of them are old and mature enough to be told the truth. I would advise you to do so, but be careful not to scare them." He looked at Logan pointedly.  
  
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Logan responded with a low growl. Unfortunately, he had no ground to argue against what Charles was implying. Apparently, stories about his wilderness trips with the students got back to Xavier. He resigned to shrug his shoulders instead.  
  
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"Then we should do so tonight," Ororo declared, blue-green eyes determined. "Most of them should be home by now. We can gather them in the recreation room and talk to them together. That way, we can make sure no one scares the students." She nodded at Logan.  
  
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This elicited yet another low growl.  
  
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Professor Xavier nodded approvingly. "Good idea, Storm. I will send out a telepathic message for all of them to meet us there." His fingertips went to his temples, massaging them gently. Attention, students, this is Professor Xavier. Please come to the recreational room for a mandatory meeting in five minutes. Thank you. He then turned to his teaching staff, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread of what laid ahead. 


	2. Chapter Two Hunter

Chapter Two: Hunter  
  
Another chapter posted!  
  
One thing to note: I'm taking liberties with the timelines here.  
  
Also, all the characters except for Det. Walsh are Marvel's. The story is completely mine.  
  
And feedback---please, please, please!  
  
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The following day found many of the students understandably distracted. Some found sleeping difficult and either could not do so in the first place or experienced various nightmares. Others responded to the news from the teaching staff by being hypervigilant. Then there were the students who took the information in stride, acknowledging there was a danger but not allowing that to interfere with their everyday activities.  
  
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The girl known as Rogue wished she belonged in the latter group, not caring. However, she found herself preoccupied with thoughts of her own safety and of someone possibly targeting her. She shivered involuntarily as she clutched her geometry books to her chest, staring despondingly down at the linoleum floor and walking to her locker in the sophomore area. Somehow, mulling over the significance of special triangles did not seem so important.  
  
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I As if I didn't have enough issues to deal with, /I she thought, chewing on her purple-painted lower lip. I In addition to Magneto, Mystique and the Brotherhood, I have to watch my back for some psycho who may or may not be stalking teenage mutants. Fabulous. /I Rolling her eyes, she spun the combination to her lock and quickly opened her locker. It was one of those times where being an adolescent and a mutant, in her words, "reeked".  
  
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Rogue shoved her books into her locker. Then she peered into magnetic mirror she had put up on the inside door, checking her reflection. Hurriedly, she ran gloved fingertips through her chin-length, brown hair. Streaks of white framed her pale, made-up features. She noticed dark circles underneath her emerald-green eyes, which had not been painted on. Scowling, she rummaged the top shelf of her locker for her make-up bag. She pulled out her concealer and pressed powder to cover up the effects of not sleeping well the night before.  
  
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"Do you have some extra?" Her roommate, Kitty, inquired. The girl's usually chirpy voice sounded considerably flat. She, too, experienced the same problems sleeping as Rogue did.  
  
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Rogue dabbed some concealer under her eyes. "Not like it's doin' any good," she sighed. "Ah still look like a train wreck. Mah eyes look really awful."  
  
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Kitty leaned against the locker next to Rogue's. "Not only do we have this curfew, but we can't really tell anyone else about what's going on. It's so.. I can't think of the word." I Yikes, not sleeping also zaps my vocabulary. /I This did not prove to be a good thing since she was going to be taking a vocabulary quiz in her English class next period.  
  
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"Isolating?" Rogue supplied, powdering her face. She tossed the compact into the make-up bag. Then she began to search for her biology book and binder. She almost hated that class as much as geometry. Dissecting animals and being reminded of one's own mortality was not the best or most educational way to spend her hour. There was also the fact that she had Bobby Drake as her lab partner. Last week, they were working with a fetal pig and Bobby decided to eat his ham sandwich during the dissection. Rogue actually contemplated pulling off a glove and teaching him a lesson.  
  
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"Yeah," Kitty agreed. She nodded vigorously, her brown ponytail swinging. "Yeah, isolating. I just hope that it stops and whoever did gets caught. I mean, this curfew is kind of early, don't you think? How am I supposed to go the library to do research for school?"  
  
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"Or go out with Lance to the mall?" Rogue mocked, pulling out her biology textbook.  
  
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Kitty pouted slightly, blushing. "I wasn't going to say that."  
  
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"Sure, ya weren't." A hint of smile crossed the other girl's pale face. For hours, she would have to listen to Kitty go on and on with Lance on the telephone, planning dates to the movies and walking around the mall together. It was so sickeningly sweet; Rogue was often tempted to brush her own teeth.  
  
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Kitty shrugged. "The mall isn't everything. He can still walk me home." Her blue eyes twinkled as she spoke.  
  
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Her roommate rolled her eyes in teasing disdain. "What a romance," she deadpanned.  
  
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"Speaking of romance, check it out.." Kitty began, her eyes flicking over to the other side of the hallway.  
  
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Rogue's emerald-green eyes followed her friend's gaze. Standing outside of the physics lab was the statuesque Jean Grey. The attractive redhead was dressed impeccably as usual in a green-and-black kilt, a white, turtleneck cable sweater, and a pair of black, knee-high boots. Complementing her ensemble was her equally comely boyfriend, senior Duncan Matthews, a tall, blond, blue-eyed, varsity athlete. The two were draped all over each other, oblivious to the bustle of the other students around them. Duncan was whispering something into Jean's delicate ear, grinning. He received a playful slap on the shoulder and a burst of giggles from Jean.  
  
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Rogue smirked. I Oh, man. They should just go and get a room, and leave the rest of us alone. /I  
  
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As she was about to pull out her binder for biology class, she noticed another familiar figure nearby. He was a tall, lean young man with a nice head of thick, clean hair. His preppy-inspired dress---navy pea coat, gray Fair Isle sweater, and brown corduroy trousers---accentuated his chiseled, all-American features. The only thing that made the person stand out were the ruby-quartz, wraparound sunglasses he wore inside. Rogue softened when she recognized the person as Scott Summers. In spite of the fact she could not see his eyes, she knew what he was looking at. Instantly, she empathized with his tense expression.  
  
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"Hi, Scott!" Kitty called out, waving over to the senior.  
  
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Startled, he jumped and nervously adjusted his sunglasses---a habit he engaged in when he was nervous. Meanwhile, Jean appeared to have jerked away from Duncan's embrace slightly to peer over at Kitty and Rogue, and then at Scott. Not meeting the redhead's stare, Scott briskly made his way over to the two sophomores. Rogue could feel her palms begin to sweat inside her gloves as he approached closer.  
  
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"Hey, how's it going?" Scott greeted.  
  
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"OK," Rogue replied, lashes lowering shyly. She willed herself not to babble as she often did when she was around him.  
  
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Kitty nodded, echoing her friend's sentiment. "What about you, Scott?"  
  
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He tugged at the strap of his backpack. "Pretty uneventful day. I think we're pretty safe here."  
  
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Rogue crossed her arms, clutching her books. "Yeah, who would have thought school was the place to be?" she asked dryly.  
  
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Scott laughed, which seemed to melt Rogue's insides. "Yeah."  
  
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The three of them were in the midst of talking about midterms that were creeping up when Evan and Kurt approached them. While Evan was laughing and holding his sides, Kurt was scowling. He kept opening his mouth only to receive warning looks from Evan. Then he approached Scott with a slip of paper he had written a message on.  
  
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Scott's brows immediately furrowed. "'Say my name,'" he read aloud, folding the piece of notebook paper. "Why would I want to do that?"  
  
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"'Cause I'm jinxed!" Kurt growled.  
  
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Scott socked him in the arm. Evan nearly dropped his books since he was laughing so hard. Kitty merely shook her head, not quite believing she was actually friends with such immature buffoons. She seemed especially disappointed with Scott, who seemed to want to project an image of the responsible adult.  
  
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Kurt howled, rubbing his upper arm. "Ow! What was that for?"  
  
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"You talked while you were jinxed, so I get to hit you." Scott grinned.  
  
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Kurt tried to give him the finger and stomped off.  
  
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Kitty stared after him and turned to the others. "We're going to catch up with him during study hall," she told them, firmly grabbing Evan's arm and giving him a scolding look. "He's our ride home." The two of them quickly walked after Kurt's retreating back.  
  
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Scott looked amused as he watched them leave. "I can always rely on your brother to lighten things up," he said to Rogue. Then he looked down at her, still smiling.  
  
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Her mouth formed a nervous, crooked grin. "That's him." She almost winced at the sound of the cracking in her voice. Desperately, she wished for some instant grace at that moment. She groaned inwardly when she realized she was not going to turn into Jean Grey in the next couple of minutes.  
  
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"So where are you headed off to this period?" Scott asked, beginning to walk from her locker. He motioned for her to join him. Together, they began to saunter down the hall.  
  
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"Biology."  
  
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"Sounds fun. Are you Bobby's lab partner?"  
  
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"Yeah."  
  
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"I'm sorry."  
  
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"Me, too. Um, what about you? Where are you going?"  
  
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"AP History. We're supposed to be covering the Civil War. Paul and I are going to present our battlefield project this afternoon."  
  
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"Sounds fun."  
  
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Scott laughed, realizing she had used the sentiment he used earlier. "Yeah." Then they stopped in front of his classroom, which was two doors from the biology lab. "Well, this is me. Have fun in class."  
  
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Rogue nodded shyly. "You, too."  
  
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Before Scott opened the door to enter the classroom, he turned to face her again. "Listen, what are you doing to get home?"  
  
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Her eyes widened. She had not thought about that. Besides the talk last night, there was no organized effort to have the students go home in groups. Many of them often walked or carpooled together before the teaching staff broke the news. Always the loner, Rogue usually preferred to walk home from Bayville High. There was a nice route she took on nice days that took her much longer to reach the mansion, but was more scenic. It allowed her some solitude and time with her thoughts before returning to the craziness of the Institute.  
  
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Finally, she answered, "Ah was gonna walk home after school like always."  
  
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Scott's face was immediately filled with concern. Then he shook his head, a lock of brown hair flopping over a perfectly arched brow. "Scratch that plan," he told her. "How about you meet me at my locker after school? I can give you a ride back to the mansion. And before you say no, just say yes for me. I'd feel better if we rode home together. That way, I'd know you were safe."  
  
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She stared at him. It took all she had to keep from her mouth gaping open. A faint blush stained her pale cheeks. "Uh.. Sure. Ah can meet ya."  
  
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"Good." Scott gave her a friendly wave before heading into the classroom.  
  
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Rogue watched the door swing close. Fighting the urge to smile broadly, she began to walk to the biology lab. While it was by no means a romantic invitation, the interaction went beyond the usual "See you in the Danger Room" or "Someone's in trouble---we gotta head to the Blackbird". Sure, he was being nice and big brotherly by asking her to ride home with him. However, she could not help but some euphoria at that moment.  
  
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She noticed that one of her sneakers was untied. Kneeling down to tie it, she sensed she was being stared at. She turned her head to see Jean at the water fountain with a strange expression on her face. Rogue could not quite put her finger on what was there. It seemed to be a mixture of things---interest, surprise, and confusion. Quickly, Jean immediately masked the ambivalent look on her face with a bright smile. The redhead waved at Rogue and then turned on her heel to walk in the other direction.  
  
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I Weird, /I Rogue observed, rising to her feet. She frowned. Despite Jean being gone, she could still feel someone's eyes on her. Shivering slightly, the girl pulled open the door to the biology lab and slipped inside. Soon, she lost herself in the lecture of the day as well as Bobby's babbling about wanting to give their fetal pig a sex change.  
  
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Outside of Bayville High, there was a car parked in front of the school. Inside, a pair of eyes narrowed. They had seen many interesting things that day. I Very interesting, indeed. Just wait. /I 


	3. Chapter Three All That I Know

Chapter Three: All That I Know  
  
Here's another installment. Enjoy.  
  
And for feedback---please, please, please!  
  
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"I don't know if this is a good idea," Logan growled, wheeling Professor Xavier into the Bayville police department. He raised a brow at the inquisitive stares of the officers and then stared straight ahead. "What makes you think they're going to let you help?"  
  
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The Professor smiled up at his old friend reassuringly. "Ye of little faith," he said. "As you said earlier, the department here is stretched thin. They could use all the help they could get."  
  
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Logan gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing more. Instead, he stopped at the information desk. Nodding a greeting at the pudgy, middle- aged officer sipping his black coffee, he drawled, "We have an appointment with Detective Walsh."  
  
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The officer stroked his rounded chin, pale eyes peering at both of them warily. "And you are?"  
  
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Professor Xavier offered a kindly smile. "Charles Xavier. She's expecting me."  
  
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"Oh, right," the officer nodded, leaning over his desk slightly to point. "Walsh's office is down that hall and the last one to the right."  
  
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Professor Xavier waving for Logan to follow him in his wheelchair. "Thank you."  
  
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The two of them made their way down the long corridor, coffee and cigarettes mixing in the air. While Logan was clearly not pleased to be there, the Professor seemed fascinated. Having never been in any criminal institutional setting, he studied his new surroundings carefully. The two rounded the corner. Within moments, they were standing outside of a door, marked WALSH.  
  
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Just as Logan was about to rap at the door with an adamantium-filled fist, a soft voice intoned, "Can I help you?"  
  
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Both men turned around, Logan on his feet, the Professor in his chair. A small, young woman stood before them, holding a cup of coffee. Her copper hair framed her cherubic face in a stylish, layered bob while dark eyes surveyed the two men behind wire-rimmed glasses. She looked very young, possibly in her mid-twenties at least, which was emphasized by the fact that she was wearing heavy make-up. It was almost as if she were attempting to compensate for her youthful appearance. While she was small in build, the young woman chose to wear rather bulky clothing---an oversized, cream-colored cardigan with toggle buttons and chinos with brown hiking boots.  
  
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"Detective Walsh," Professor Xavier greeted, extending a hand. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier. We talked on the phone this morning."  
  
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She shook his hand firmly, her own hand cool and dry. "Yes. Nice to meet you." Her dark eyes flicked over to Logan who was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. She raised her thin brows expectantly. "And this is?"  
  
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"My associate, Logan," Professor Xavier replied, giving the other man an encouraging nod to speak.  
  
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"Detective." Logan's gravelly voice was low. He offered his hand, his expression one of wariness.  
  
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Walsh shook it hesitantly, giving him a quizzical look before walking to her door and opening it. "Come on in," she told them, taking a sip of coffee. She made a face as she closed the door behind them. "Bleecch. Needs more sugar."  
  
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Logan settled into one of the wooden chairs across the detective's pressboard desk. The walls were painted a faded shade of cream, which was consistent with the rest of the station. A commendation plaque hung on the far wall where the Professor was sitting along with the detective's college diploma in psychology from the state university. Other than those two personal items, the office was rather cold and sterile. No pictures, no knickknacks---nothing that would have spoke any further as to what the detective was like personally. He saw a desk calendar with scribbles on each day for this month. Meanwhile, piles of file folders were neatly stacked on the corner of her desk, next to her nameplate.  
  
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Walsh sat behind her desk and slipped off her glasses. She looked like a child, playing a role of police officer. "So you would like to offer your services to our department?" she asked the Professor.  
  
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The Professor nodded emphatically. "Yes, from our conversation earlier, I understand that your department might not be able to offer full resources to certain crimes, such as the murder that took place the night before."  
  
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"That's not an official position," the detective quickly replied. "Solving any crime is important. Yes, we're a bit understaffed at the moment, but that doesn't change the department's commitment to this town."  
  
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The Professor nonchalantly waved his hand. "Of course, detective. It's just that since that the victim was a mutant, I would imagine that the case would have to be handled a little differently."  
  
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Walsh narrowed her eyes, feeling that she had just been talked down to. She shook her head as she stared into the kindly eyes of the bald man in the wheelchair. He didn't seem to be capable of something like that. She decided to evade the issue again. "Professor, we're not even sure if this murder stemmed from the fact that our victim was a mutant. It could have been totally random. At this point, we don't really know."  
  
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"But the young woman could be visibly identified as a mutant?"  
  
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"Yes. It was obvious that she was."  
  
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"You also do realize that mutants have been recently targeted since being exposed several months ago. It is not uncommon to hear about mutants being harassed on a day-to-day basis."  
  
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"I believe that the Bayville police department has provided adequate security for both your Institute and the Brotherhood boarding house. This was especially true following the initial exposure of your students to the rest of the world."  
  
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"Even so, detective, there's no denying the anti-mutant sentiment in town. Perhaps, it has pushed someone over the edge. To the extent that they actually take a life."  
  
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"Perhaps. But what you are proposing is a theory right now. There is nothing that we have, indicating you are correct."  
  
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"True. However, what is the department doing to follow up any leads?"  
  
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There was a long pause. Walsh did not want to repeat word-for-word what the chief had told her earlier that morning. She was afraid she might offend the two men in the room, whom she concluded were mutants given their interest in the case. "Let's say that mutants aren't at the top of our list," she finally said.  
  
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Logan grunted, scowling.  
  
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The detective frowned at him. Then she turned to the Professor and asked, "So, what are you offering that goes beyond my department's existing resources besides manpower, Professor Xavier? As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I really don't have time to supervise someone who wants to pretend to play policeman for a day."  
  
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Her gaze then went to the scowling Logan and she commented, "And his trusty sidekick."  
  
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The Professor inhaled sharply. "Fair enough, detective," he said quietly. "Have you identified the girl yet?"  
  
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Walsh shook her head. "No. We weren't able to obtain fingerprints from the body, so we're only working with dental records and photographs. Bayville hasn't had a missing person case of a teenaged, mutant girl, so she's not local that we know of. So, the records and photographs were sent to other jurisdictions' missing person departments, as well the state police department. I just sent in information to a national database--- VICAP---this morning. Right now, all we can do is wait. In the meantime, I'm waiting for our medical examiner to complete the autopsy."  
  
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Logan raised a brow at her. "And nothing was found at the crime scene?"  
  
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"CSU combed the area twice. Nothing. Whoever did it made sure not to leave any trace as to who they were or who our victim was. A preliminary examination of the body revealed nothing as well. Her fingernails and clothing were devoid of any foreign fibers, hairs, skin, and so forth." Walsh sounded very matter-of-fact.  
  
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The Professor's mouth was set in a grim line. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance in identifying the girl."  
  
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Logan gave him a silencing look, shaking his head. I What are you doing, Chuck? /I Evidently, he was not on board with what Xavier was about to say.  
  
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I It is all right, my friend,/I Xavier responded telepathically. He then turned to the detective, who appeared to be confused regarding the nonverbal exchange that took place in front of the two men.  
  
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"How would you propose to do that?" Walsh inquired skeptically. She was now playing with her coffee cup, but not consuming the hot, bitter liquid inside.  
  
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The Professor leaned forward and folded his hands. "I could possibly help, using my psychic abilities." He paused and then said, "I would need to see the girl, of course."  
  
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Walsh stopped fiddling with the cup. "That's not exactly within our standard operating procedures, Professor," she quipped. Then she became serious. "I'm not sure if I could allow you to do that. The medical examiner.."  
  
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"I would not need to touch her," he pointed out. "Just be close enough to her in order to scan her mind."  
  
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"Or what's left of it," Logan added under his breath. He was slightly surprised that Xavier's powers extended to nonliving beings.  
  
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The young detective leaned back in her chair, mulling over the proposal carefully. If she said yes and gave the Professor Carte blanche to do what he wanted on this case, there was a very good chance she could be flipping burgers at the local diner this time tomorrow. However, if she declined she could very likely be looking at an unsolved case with no starting point to the investigation. Not that there was any pressure from the chief to find out who killed the girl, or anyone else for that matter. Well, anyone except for the two mutants sitting across from her.  
  
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Yet, Walsh was known for being a risk-taker. That was why she had decided to pursue a career in law enforcement. Flying in the face of convention was something she tended to relish. It also helped her in solving cases and consequently, getting promoted to detective.  
  
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There might be a chance that the Professor could be of some assistance. She would never know unless she accepted. If she were to say yes, things would have to be handled very discreetly. Walsh decided to place some caveats to her answer.  
  
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Finally, she pursed her fleshy lips and said, "Well, if you don't mind the smell in the coroner's office or what you're about to see after the M.E. has done the autopsy, you can pay a visit to our Jane Doe. However, I'm going to have to stipulate that only you, Professor, be allowed inside. Mr. Logan will have to wait outside of the crime scene lab area. We don't want to attract too much attention."  
  
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Logan's eyes flashed briefly under his stony brows. Usually, he did not like leaving the Professor's side. He peered over at the child-faced detective, who appeared to be the antithesis of threatening. His brows knitted together, demonstrating how unhappy he was about the idea. However, he decided not to voice his objections. In the end, the kid was doing them a favor. He might as well go along with it.  
  
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The office of Bayview's medical examiner was located in the basement of the police station. During the elevator ride down, Walsh informed Xavier and Logan how it was often referred to as "The Cellar". When they finally reached the floor it was located on, both men could not help but to agree. The area was dimly lit thanks to blinking fluorescent lighting overhead. A mixture of preserving chemicals and dead flesh wafted faintly in the air, which was undetectable to normal humans but quite strong for Logan, who cursed his sense of smell. The air was quite cold, adding to the forbidding, morbid atmosphere. With the exception of some voices from the crime scene laboratory, there was an eerie stillness to the basement. It almost as if the floor were trying to give the dead some sense of peace despite unnatural manner in which they died.  
  
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Not knowing the experience of death himself, Logan could not help but to feel somewhat apprehensive as he took in his new surroundings. He wasn't especially squeamish about being in the same area as various corpses. After all, he had fought in several wars where fallen comrades often surrounded him in the battlefields. He had the unfortunate experience to witness others meet their fate in horrific ways. Logan surmised his uneasiness might have stemmed from his own existential discomfort.  
  
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Walsh led them to a set of double, steel doors at the end of the hallway. She pointed to a row of chairs several feet away and turned to Logan. Like most of the station, these were unadorned. "You sit and wait there, Mr. Logan," she told him. "Sorry there's no reading material to keep you busy. Usually, people don't like to stay here for very long."  
  
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I Smart-ass, /I he thought, resisting the urge to snarl at her deadpanned expression. I Kids get mouthier and mouthier these days. /I Wordlessly, he sank into a wooden chair, hunching his shoulders. He glared at the signs that seemed to be all around him, reminding him of biohazards in the area, to wash his hands before and after coming to the coroner's office, not to enter unless he was authorized personnel, and not to remove anything from the area.  
  
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Walsh, who had thrown on a camel pea coat in her office before going to the basement, reached out and hit the button for the automatic doors. As they opened, she motioned for the Professor to wheel in front of her. She followed close behind, taking out a bottle of Purel from her chino pocket and rubbing a small amount in her hands. She offered some to the Professor who gratefully obliged.  
  
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"Walsh, my favorite detective." A booming voice greeted. "Back so soon?"  
  
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Walsh grinned, pausing in front of the double sinks by the doors. "Yeah, Tom. I've recruited some help in trying to find out who our Jane Doe is." She nodded down at Professor Xavier. "Dr. Frank Tom, this is Professor Charles Xavier. He'll be consulting on our Jane Doe case. Professor, this is Dr. Tom, our M.E."  
  
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Dr. Tom was a round, middle-aged man of Chinese descent with a head of thick, raven-black hair and a beard to match. His almond-shaped eyes were reflective behind horn-rimmed glasses, which was in contrast to his expressionless mouth. A standard white lab coat over aqua surgical scrubs draped over the medical examiner's chubby frame. When he moved away from the stainless steel examining slab to greet the two visitors, his actions were slow and deliberate.  
  
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"It is nice to meet you, Professor," Dr. Tom drawled, "I'd shake hands with you, but.." He held up his pudgy hands, which were covered with latex gloves. "Part of the uniform, you know."  
  
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Xavier nodded. "Understood, Dr. Tom."  
  
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"Have you finished the autopsy?" Walsh piped up, eyeing the slab. A white sheet covered a lump that lay on the steel table.  
  
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Tom followed her stare. "Just about," he replied. His fingers lifted the corners of the sheet hesitantly. "I've heard of things like this, but never I have actually seen it myself---in all my years in Bayville. This kind of stuff happens in big cities, doesn't it? I mean, the amount mutilation done to the body.. It's also quite sad to see this on someone so young, mutant or not."  
  
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Walsh nodded sympathetically. "I know, Tom. Doesn't get any easier the longer you're in this business." Her tone communicated empathy, but at the same time, a pragmatic, no nonsense approach to the situation.  
  
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Tom pressed his thin lips together and pulled the sheet down, stopping at the girl's waist. "Our Jane Doe is five-foot-three and a hundred pounds, and is between the ages of 14 and 15 years of age. Other than her skin, which indicates she was a mutant, there was nothing out of the ordinary about her anatomically speaking. She appears to have died between the hours of 10 to 11 pm. This was confirmed by the amount of digestion of the stomach contents. The girl didn't go hungry for her last night---hamburger and French fries.  
  
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"Even though we're still waiting on toxicology screens to come back, I highly doubt drugs or alcohol were involved. The overall conditions of the organs appear to suggest clean living, but I'm going to check to make sure. Also, negative on sexual assault. I combed for hairs and searched for semen. The hymen was completely intact."  
  
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Walsh impassively gazed down at the corpse. "Cause of death?" she asked.  
  
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"Murder by asphyxiation," Tom answered, pointing to the series of purplish- black bruises around the girl's gray neck. "Whoever did it was strong. Cracked her windpipe completely. Usually, when we see these kinds of things, perpetrator often uses an instrument to invoke strangulation, like a piece of taut cloth. The killer used his bare hands and applied a great deal of force. However, he it took him at least two tries to choke her to death.  
  
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"Anyway, she put up a struggle, which explains the facial injuries. I scraped the cuts around her forehead and samples from her hair and managed to extract some rocks and dirt. I'm waiting for CSU to match the specimens to those taken from the crime scene. My working theory is that she was thrown to the ground during the struggle face first and that she was killed where you guys found her. After she was pulled down on her front, she was flipped over on her back where she was finally strangled. There's no indication I can find that her body was moved.  
  
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"However, this does not explain the mutilations," he continued, pointing to the missing section of skin on the girl's forehead and then lifting one of her hands to display the missing epidermal layer. "The killer used a very precise cutting instrument to remove the skin and was quite skilled. Never hit a vein or other major blood vessel. While there was bleeding, it was not as much as it could have been. The person probably had intimate knowledge of the human body, what to cut to inflict the least amount of bleeding."  
  
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"Do you know what kind of weapon we're looking at?" Walsh asked.  
  
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Tom shook his head. "No. Maybe a scalpel or a penknife? I don't know for sure. All I can tell you is that the cuts were clean and that they were done post-mortem." He cleared his throat. "I scraped for fibers from the body and turned up nothing. Ditto for the clothing. I could not find anything that would indicate the presence of another person. Again, no hairs, no fibers to speak of. The killer was very thorough in making sure not to leave trace of his existence."  
  
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Professor Xavier gazed grimly at the corpse, finding himself almost overwhelmed with disgust for the killer. This child was made to suffer a brutal, violent death for no apparent reason. Sorrow washed over him as he continued to stare at the empty vessel before him. He shook his head somberly. Times like this often made him question his philosophy regarding peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants. How could there be when things like this happen?  
  
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Walsh raised her brows expectantly at Tom. "Anything else?"  
  
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"Nope. Other than the toxicology results, I'm done." Tom nodded. "I'll get my final report printed out later on today."  
  
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She peered over at the despondent-looking Professor before giving the medical examiner an appreciative look. "Thanks, Tom."  
  
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He began to saunter away from the slab and towards the sinks, pulling off his gloves. "No problem. Listen, I have to run upstairs for a little bit, in case anyone's looking form. Are you going to be here for a while?"  
  
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"Yeah. Do you need for us to lock up for you?"  
  
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"No, nothing like that. Just in case anyone's looking for me, is all."  
  
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"You got it, Tom."  
  
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"Thanks, Walsh."  
  
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After the medical examiner left, Walsh turned to Xavier. "Well, Professor. I've brought you here and you're with her. Now, what can you tell me?"  
  
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Professor Xavier frowned thoughtfully. He then wheeled himself closer to the steel slab where the body lay. Without another word, he placed his hands around the girl's head, careful not to touch her. Then he closed his eyes, concentrating. He had actually never scanned the mind of a deceased person before. Back in the detective's office, he had been merely testing the detective to see how far she would allow him to go. But there was a first time for everything.  
  
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Flashes of light burst in front of his eyes. Xavier was almost dizzy from the vivid images that played out rapidly in his mind's eye. He squeezed his eyes close tight in concentration. There was a part of him that wanted to get all the information he could from the young girl, but at the same time, he found himself deathly afraid of what she was telling him.  
  
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Suddenly, he jerked back into the present time, almost falling out his wheelchair. Detective Walsh raced to his side to catch him. When she saw that this was not necessary, she backed away and stared at him curiously. The Professor rubbed his temples nervously and opened his eyes to the cherubic countenance of the detective.  
  
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"Did you find out anything?" she asked.  
  
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The Professor struggled for a moment to regain his composure after the experience. He winced slightly. "Her name is Claire Novak," he announced. "She was a runaway mutant.. No family to speak of here; parents died before her mutant powers developed. Claire could project flashes of light from her hands and her forehead."  
  
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Walsh watched the Professor's aged face suddenly take on a youthful light as he talked. It was eerie, seeing him channel the memories of the dead girl before them. The look of desperation and now fear played out in his features.  
  
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"She was scouring the dumpsters outside of the Burger Hut on Main and Elm for something to eat the night she died," he continued, his voice flat. She ate and then started looking for a place to sleep. And she's walking away from the restaurant. She is tired and wants to sleep so badly. She remembers the old, abandoned factory a couple of blocks from where she is standing. She decides to go there. It is cold and raining now.  
  
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"She is about to go into one of the buildings. There is an open door that has not been boarded up yet. But she stops because someone is calling out her name. How could they know her name? No one in Bayville knows her. She is nobody.  
  
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"She approaches the person outside of the building. She knows the person. She.."  
  
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Then the Professor grabbed the sides of head, his face filled with anguish.  
  
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I I don't want to die! It hurts! Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme! Pleaseohpleaseohplease! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! I can't breathe! I can't. I can't.. Someone help.. Someone..Someone. /I  
  
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Black.  
  
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Xavier slumped over in his wheelchair, exhausted. The anguish and terror in the girl's mind echoed in his own. He had seen and heard death in the most violent form. From his reaction, the experience shook him to his core. 


	4. Chapter Four Superdeformed

Chapter Four: Superdeformed  
  
All characters except for Det. Walsh and Dr. Tom's are Marvel's. The story is mine.  
  
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Later on that afternoon, Kurt, Bobby, Sam Guthrie, and Jubilee made a trip to the Bayville Public Library. Each was doing research for various school projects that were due before midterms. After spending several hours there, Kurt noted that dinner was to be served at the Institute and quickly rounded up the others in the group to go home. He and Jubilee had reached the black Volkswagen van first, and were waiting for Bobby and Sam. The two boys were straggling behind after Bobby stopped to check out several books on Greek mythology.  
  
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Bobby was stuffing his books into his backpack, staring ahead at Jubilee. After a brief absence from the school at the insistence of her foster parents, the young girl returned to the Institute when she moved in with a new family who were more trusting of the Professor and his assurances that she would be safe. Upon her return, Bobby was excited. The two of them had been close before she left, having been in the same classes together and often training together in the Danger Room. Most importantly, she appreciated his sense of humor.  
  
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The two picked up where they had left off---hanging out together during and between classes, laughing at his jokes, and training together with the other students. Yet, Bobby noticed something different about things now. Even after weeks following her return, he still experienced those feelings of excitement when he was around her. He was grinning quite a lot while they were together and at times, found himself tongue-tied.  
  
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As he struggled to research sources for his world history report, Bobby realized what was different. There were no longer feelings that indicated the once platonic nature of their friendship. No, these were stronger, charged feelings that left him in a state similar to the silly putty Dani often played with when she was stressed out. Unfortunately, sorting through his emotions regarding Jubilee had cost him valuable study time.  
  
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When he was packing up his things to leave, Bobby noticed Sam and Jubilee talking and laughing together by the circulation desk. A surge of jealousy pulsed through his veins. While he and Sam were good friends, Bobby decided to demonstrate to Jubilee who was the better mutant.  
  
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"Last one to the van has to kiss Kurt's hairy butt!" Bobby called out when they exited the library. He and Sam made a mad dash for the van where Kurt was standing with his keys in hand. To Bobby's dismay, Sam propelled himself forward to the van and won.  
  
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Kurt dropped his cargo pants slightly, but kept on his rocket ship boxers. He then wiggled his bottom at Bobby. "Pucker up, baby!"  
  
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Bobby grimaced. "Eww! I'd rather vomit, eat my own vomit, and then vomit again."  
  
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Kurt's face dropped. "Eww." He pulled up his cargo pants and zipped back up. Then he quickly opened the doors to the van.  
  
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Sam opened the side door and hopped inside. Being the polite Southern gentleman he was, the lanky teenager extended a hand to Jubilee. Smiling up at him, she obliged, allowing him to pull her inside. Sam leaned his blond head out the door and stuck his tongue out at his friend, then closed the door. Bobby sighed, rolling his eyes and climbing into the passenger seat of the van.  
  
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The ride back to the mansion was uneventful at first. Kurt had popped in the latest Coldplay CD Kitty had lent him, while talking to Bobby about grossing out Rogue during biology lab. This prompted the other boy to start boasting about his latest escapades in class to the others in the van. This was met with a chorus of laughs and groans of disgust.  
  
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Kurt was in the process of making his usual left-hand turn at the traffic circle when the van jerked suddenly, followed by a POP sound. Startled, he slowed the van down. Then he pulled over, finally parking the van in front of an unmarked office building. "Is everyone OK?" he asked.  
  
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"Yeah," Bobby replied, running a hand through his sandy hair. He turned around and saw Sam and Jubilee nod their heads.  
  
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"Cool. I think one of the tires blew out. Who vants to help me change it?" Kurt already opened the driver's side door and stepped one foot outside.  
  
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Sam raised his hand. "I used to help my dad with his car all the time," he commented, pulling the tire jack from underneath the seats. He opened the door and hopped out.  
  
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Before Kurt joined Sam behind the van to extract the spare tire from the back door, he tossed Bobby the van's cellular phone. "Call Logan and tell him ve're running late vith car problems. Don't vant him tearing up town, looking for us." Then he slammed the driver's side door closed.  
  
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Bobby pressed the talk function on the phone. Nothing. Frowning, he stared down at the phone and noticed that the battery had not been charged. "We can't call home. The phone's dead," he told Jubilee, motioning for her to get out of the van.  
  
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She followed him, quickly buttoning up her red, hooded, toggle coat. "It's going to take those two at least ten minutes to change the tire," she said, nodding at Kurt and Sam who were pulling the tire off from the back door of the van. "What are we going to do?"  
  
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Bobby peered over at the office building and noticed that the lights were on from inside. He waved a hand towards the building. "Why don't we go in there to the front desk? I'm sure they'll let us use their phone. No one turns away kids in trouble."  
  
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Jubilee followed his gaze. The building was not that far from where they were now---at least a couple of yards. She nodded her agreement with the idea. "Wait here," she said to him, walking towards the others. "I'll let them know what we're doing."  
  
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She found Kurt positioning the tire jack while Sam propped the spare tire against the curb. "Guys, the phone doesn't work. Bobby and I are going to the office building over there to see if someone will let us use a phone."  
  
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Kurt raised his head and noted where she was pointing. "OK," he grunted, wishing he had Logan's strength at that moment. "When you talk them, tell them ve'll be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Sam, a little help here?"  
  
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"I thought you said you could handle it." Sam sounded tired and indignant.  
  
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Jubilee returned to Bobby and the two began to walk to the building. Their pace was brisk, as it was getting darker and darker outside. Last night's information or scare session, as some liked to call it, still lingered in their minds. Needless to say, both wanted to return to the safety of the mansion as soon as possible.  
  
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"Are we almost there? I can't see." Bobby groused, squinting under the dimness of the streetlamp overhead. He thought he could see the three- story office building and its metal sculptures nearby, but he wasn't really sure.  
  
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Jubilee raised a brow at him. She raised a hand in front her, about to summon a spark. Bobby grabbed her wrist and pulled it down to her side. He shook his head emphatically.  
  
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"Don't. Someone might see you."  
  
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Blushing, she nodded, feeling stupid for forgetting. Even though the anti- mutant fervor had died down a bit, it did not mean that people were ready to embrace mutants. Exposing her powers would prove to attract attention she did not want or need.  
  
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"Thanks," she said softly.  
  
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He did not release her wrist, but loosened his grip. "No problem. Who else is gonna look out for you?"  
  
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She gave him a wry smile and continued to walk on with him. "You're my great protector, huh? How chivalrous."  
  
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"That's me. Bobby Drake, shining example of what a hero should be."  
  
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"Somehow, I don't think Ms. Munroe would agree with you after what you did in the Danger Room this morning."  
  
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"Listen, that robot with the lasers was going nuts. It was going to be either Jamie or me. I chose me. Besides, he's not too mad. I think it was actually one of his clones that took the brunt of the fall, really."  
  
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Jubilee laughed. She was about to come back with a quip when her foot suddenly hit something hard. She was slightly ahead of Bobby, which prevented him from catching her right away. Stumbling forward, she put out her hands to catch herself on the ground, bracing herself for the impact.  
  
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Or what she thought was going to be the ground.  
  
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Her palms felt clothing.  
  
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Her palms felt something lumpy and solid underneath.  
  
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Her palms felt something like a body.  
  
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Why wasn't the person moving?  
  
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So still.  
  
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Why was it so cold?  
  
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So cold.  
  
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Immediately, the young girl's mind began to race frantically.  
  
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I Oh my God.. What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? What was that? /I  
  
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Gasping, Jubilee scrambled to her feet and began to back away. Her eyes widened in fear as she suppressed the urge to scream. Under the dim streetlamps, she could barely make out the outline of what she had tripped over. The young girl's knees almost buckled underneath her, but she managed to keep standing.  
  
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Bobby raced to her side, placing an arm around her shoulders to steady her. He could tell she was trembling. However, he had not seen what had inspired her frightened state. He was almost too afraid to ask.  
  
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"There's something---someone on the ground," she whispered finally. "Bobby, I felt something."  
  
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"I can't see anything," he whispered back, peering around them. The parking lot across the street from the building was empty. No one was standing in front of the windows of the office buildings. "Or anyone." His brown eyes told her to go ahead and light things up.  
  
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Nodding, Jubilee pulled away from him slightly. A pinkish-yellow light sparked from her hand and she held it over the ground, over the spot she had tripped. Her blue eyes widened when she saw what she had actually stumbled over.  
  
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I Oh no. /I  
  
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She grasped Bobby's hand and buried her face against his shoulder.  
  
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Normally, Bobby would have been thrilled to have her this close to him. Given the circumstances, holding her in his arms was somewhat bittersweet. He craned his neck to see what prompted this reaction. His insides ran cold---no pun intended.  
  
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There was a body on the pavement, not moving. Most importantly, the body was not breathing. Yet, that was not what had terrified the two teenagers at that moment.  
  
P  
  
They knew the person.  
  
P  
  
Caliban. The Morlock who had befriended Jubilee and other students after they fled the mansion many months ago lay on the ground, dead. A frail, somewhat childlike individual, he seemed an unlikely person to meet such a fate.  
  
P  
  
There was also the condition of his body.  
  
P  
  
The chalk-white skin around his neck was marred by a series of bruises. His bald head lay in a massive pool of blood with several deep cuts across his forehead. These cuts were deep, slicing past bone to the point where brain matter seeped through some of these incisions. The thick, crimson liquid was a sharp contrast to the paleness of his skin. The mutant's wide, yellow eyes were still open as was his mouth, reflecting the shock and terror he must have experienced at the time of his death. Caliban's hands were outstretched at his sides. It was almost as if he had tried to defend himself from his attacker.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee's breath was quick and hot against Bobby's neck. She refused to turn her face from his shoulder and look at the body. Her arms tightened around him, her fear almost overwhelming her. For some reason, she did not want to admit that Caliban was dead. He didn't deserve to die; not this way.  
  
P  
  
"Is he.? Is he.? Oh my God, Bobby. It's Caliban. He can't be. He can't. Oh my God!"  
  
P  
  
Wordlessly, Bobby shook his head. He pulled her closer to him, as if to comfort himself. What they had just seen was too horrible to even process. Initial hopes that the whole situation was a nightmare diminished as the two continued to stand over the body.  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, a cloud of sulphur swirled around them. Kurt's face peeked from the dissipating mist. "Vhere have you guys been?" he demanded, his face quizzical when he noticed Bobby and Jubilee clinging to each other. He knew that the other boy had a slight crush on the girl, but this was kind of too cutesy.  
  
P  
  
Then his eyes followed Bobby's unwavering gaze. The German native placed a shaking hand over his mouth. He sank to his knees, never taking his eyes off of the corpse before them. "Mein Gott," he muttered.  
  
P  
  
Several minutes later, Detective Walsh's heavily made-up face glowed in the spinning police lights. Her dark eyes watched Dr. Tom and a young man from his office wheel the gurney with the black body bag. CSU was casing the area, combing the area for evidence, within the confines of taped off space. Uniformed Bayville police officers were spread out between the office building, questioning individuals who in there. The teenagers who had discovered the deceased were being questioned nearby, all of them clearly upset with what they had found.  
  
P  
  
A black Lincoln town car pulled up next to her Dodge Aries across the street. Walsh watched a tall, slim woman with long, white tresses and coffee-colored skin climb out of the driver's seat. She crossed over to the other side of the car and opened the back door. Professor Xavier's trademark wheelchair rolled out slowly with a sleek grace. He was dressed impeccably as usual in a dark khaki suit and a black, wool turtleneck.  
  
P  
  
Leaving his female associate at the car, Xavier wheeled himself over to where the young detective was standing, which was about a foot away from where the body had been discovered. His face was drawn with worry. He looked up at Walsh and said, "Well, Detective Walsh?"  
  
P  
  
She stared at him hard, her cherubic features grim. "Well, Professor, I think we have a problem." 


	5. Chapter Five Turn the Page

Chapter Five: Turn the Page  
  
Thanks for the reviews guys! Keep them coming.  
  
The next chapters are basically other people's reactions to what's going on.  
  
As usual, all of the characters belong to Marvel except for Walsh and Tom.  
  
P  
  
The day after the second murder, the Professor decided to make the curfew earlier than the previous 7:30 PM. Only students who were involved in extracurricular activities that met after school were allowed to stay out later. All other students were promptly instructed to return to the mansion---no exceptions. While the announcement was made without making any references to the murder that took place the night before, most of the students surmised what happened. Watching the television news coverage and talking with Kurt, Sam, Bobby, and Jubilee---the students who had actually found the body---only confirmed their suspicions.  
  
P  
  
In general, the students understood the precautions being taken. However, almost all of them were upset about having to report back home so early, especially those with girlfriends or boyfriends outside of the Institute like Jean, Kitty, and Kurt. Others experienced heightened anxiety as a result of another mutant murder, which was primarily true with some of the younger recruits. Both appeared to contribute to a quieter, somewhat tenser atmosphere around the Institute.  
  
P  
  
Carrying a glass of milk and a chocolate croissant as a snack for her study break, Rogue walked by the living room and noticed Logan seated on the worn sofa. He was reading the Bayville Inquirer, his face set in a contemplative scowl. This was not entirely different from the perpetual grimace the loner wore on an everyday basis. She could hear a rumbling growl emanating from him. Curious, the young girl sauntered into the room.  
  
P  
  
Like the rest of the mansion, the living room was a reflection of the Professor's elegant tastes. There was a palette of muted jewel tones-teal and amethyst, plum and garnet, loden and amber-colored mohair plaids and velvet paisleys, fringed tattersalls and Harris tweeds, borrowed from her favorite hacking jackets and warmest carriage blankets. A selection of oversized photography books was stacked on a side table, while a leather ottoman was used as a resting place holding a tray set with a teapot and two cups on antique saucers. Timeworn velvets, faded damasks and vintage leathers, which took their cues from the walls' antique patina to create a well-worn setting, accented the room's well-worn plank floors. Located in the room were a well-worn leather sofa and corduroy chairs with pillows of shearing, mohair, and luxe touches of coyote, taken from her country home. Across the generous library table crowned with an abundant spray of pussy willows, was a clubby sofa in a tone-on-tone loden stripe mixes tweedy pillows with a glamorous coyote throw. The room was finished off by the curves of intimately scaled leather chairs, emphasized by nailhead trim.  
  
P  
  
"Aren't ya supposed to be studyin' or doin' somethin' school-related?" Logan asked gruffly, not even raising his eyes from the newspaper. His nostrils immediately detected the vanilla-scented perfume she wore.  
  
P  
  
Rogue took a sip of her milk. "Ah'm takin' a break. Ah can only take so much readin' about geometry proofs." Her head cocked to the side as she studied the usually laconic instructor. Then she settled down next to him. "What's got ya broodin'?"  
  
P  
  
The Canadian lowered the newspaper slightly. Dark eyes were thoughtful under stony brows. "Local press's coverage on the two dead mutants," he said flatly. "And other mutant stuff."  
  
P  
  
"Why? What are they sayin'?" Rogue did not think there was all that much to write about since the police had said they had no leads on a possible suspect. At least, that was what she had seen from the local news broadcast after dinner. Not the most comforting thing if you were a mutant.  
  
P  
  
Logan grunted. Then he passed her the metro section of the paper. "Read for yourself." He leaned back into the sofa, crossing his ankles and settling with another section.  
  
P  
  
Rogue's emerald green eyes briefly scanned the page. The reporter had started off by writing about how the police department was no closer to identifying the murderer. It also went beyond the coverage of the crimes themselves. According to the article, there were some in the community who could not care less that two mutants had been killed in a short period of time. Some even decried their tax dollars being spent to track down someone who was "exterminating mutant scum". A prominent voice being quoted was an activist named Graydon Creed, someone who identified himself as a community leader of Bayville. He went so far as to say that the perpetrator was actually doing the town a favor by killing mutants, stressing that at least there were two less freaks of nature existing in the world.  
  
P  
  
Next to the piece was one about some new virus scientists had discovered. Called the Mordred Virus, after the first victim who succumbed to the illness, the article discussed how the virus had been first discovered in mutants. The symptoms and course were similar to those of AIDS, but were more rapid in onset and much more severe. Given that mutants are immune to most STDs because of their X-gene, the emergence of this virus was quite startling. Sufferers experienced debilitating fatigue, rapid weight loss, appearance of discolored sores all over the face and body, declines in cognitive and personality functioning to the point of dementia, respiratory problems, and in some cases, loss of all sensory functions before one's ultimate demise. Photographs of gaunt, depressed mutants with the sickness were imposed over the column.  
  
P  
  
The Mordred Virus also shared the same mode of transmission with AIDS--- through sexual contact. Until recently, not much was known about the disease. Since it predominantly struck mutants, there was not the same outcry for research as there was with AIDS. Much like the murders in Bayville, there seemed to be the sentiment that if something was killing mutants, then it wasn't all that important to investigate. However, recent events soon changed this tone.  
  
P  
  
The article then talked about how there were now cases in human patients. Both of these cases had shown up in cities on the West Coast, where the individuals admitted to engaging in relations with mutant partners infected with the virus. While the reports quoted these patients as having used some form of protection, they were infected nonetheless. As devastating as the disease was in mutants, it appeared to be even more so for humans. The progress of the symptoms and death was ten times faster for these human cases. By the time the article had been written, these two patients had died from the Mordred virus. While the writer and his sources from the Centers of Disease Control had not outright said that mutants should be quarantined, there were hints and innuendos about doing so. According to this perspective, mutants were to be held solely responsible for the outbreak of the virus.  
  
P  
  
Two bright spots of pink colored the girl's normally pale cheeks. She peered up at Logan, who appeared amused and annoyed at the same time. She wondered how he could be so composed given how notorious he was for having a short fuse. Why wasn't he feeling as enraged as she was? How could he sit there and just brood? The Logan she knew would want to tear things up. I What gives? I  
  
P  
  
"Shows the newspapers will talk to anyone and will write about anythin'," she said bitterly, tossing the paper in his lap. The young girl crossed her arms over her chest, scowling. Then she pulled the hood of her purple cotton sweatshirt over her head.  
  
P  
  
Logan raised a brow at her. "You OK?" he asked. Despite his gruff tone, there was concern in his voice. Immediately, he could tell that the girl was quite disturbed from what she had read. He regretted his decision to pass her the paper. She and the rest of the students were already wound up pretty tight. Reading the articles probably added to that tension for Rogue, whom he suspected, was not all that far off to begin with.  
  
P  
  
She took a bite into her croissant. After taking a few moments to chew, she said, "Sometimes, Ah think Magneto had the right idea when he wanted to create a sanctuary for mutants." She was referring to Xavier's rival's plan some time ago to create a place of refuge, Asteroid M, for mutants to develop their powers. While she had been resistant to being whisked away from her friends and everyone she knew back in Bayville, she was not sure if his idea was all that harmful.  
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"Ah mean it woulda been easier to have a place to exist without worryin' about some idiot givin' me crap about bein' who Ah am. Ah gotta worry about mutants are bein' killed here in Bayville. Then there's some disease Ah might get 'cause Ah'm a mutant. Whoever said bein' young was all about bein' carefree was obviously no mutant."  
  
P  
  
"So you think Magneto was onto something because mutants would be living separately from humans?"  
  
P  
  
"I don't know. Maybe. Ah would think it would make things easier."  
  
P  
  
"Just 'cause somethin's easier, doesn't make it better."  
  
P  
  
"Oh come on, Logan. Don't tell me ya really believe that. Being a martyr for mutant rights ain't exactly what Ah see ya as. Besides, it's better than bein' scared all the time. How's that a better life?"  
  
P  
  
"I never said I wanted to be a martyr, darlin'."  
  
P  
  
"Then what are ya sayin'?"  
  
P  
  
"All I'm sayin' is that a life that's easier isn't necessarily a better one. If life was easy and fluff, what good would it be?"  
  
P  
  
"Great, now Ah'm talkin' to the next Nietzsche."  
  
P  
  
"I don't think Nietzsche woulda said somethin' like that."  
  
P  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
P  
  
"Really. Maybe you should take that philosophy course Kitty's taking this semester. Then you can get your guys straight."  
  
P  
  
"Whatever. That's not the point."  
  
P  
  
"You had a point, Rogue?"  
  
P  
  
"Ah was tryin' to be sarcastic, Logan."  
  
P  
  
"I know."  
  
P  
  
"Logan?"  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, kid?"  
  
P  
  
"Are ya scared? Ah mean, of goin' out and maybe runnin' into whoever's killin' mutants?"  
  
P  
  
Logan gave her a quizzical look.  
  
P  
  
Mentally, she slapped herself on the forehead. I I can't believe I just asked that. Of course, he wouldn't be afraid. This is the guy who's been in far worse situations.. /I She remembered hearing the Professor and Storm talking about Logan's World War II experiences and how he had been some sort of war hero or something.  
  
P  
  
Rogue exhaled loudly, narrowing her emerald eyes. "Never mind. Forget Ah even asked that."  
  
P  
  
He lowered the paper completely. The expression on his face softened slightly as he said quietly, "Yeah, I'm scared."  
  
P  
  
"Ya are?" Her tone reflected how incredulous she was with his admission.  
  
P  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, Rogue, I am. Not for me so much, but for you and the rest of the kids around here. I don't.. I don't want anything to happen to you guys. That's it."  
  
P  
  
There was a long period of silence. Logan continued to read the paper, his face drawn in an interested expression. Meanwhile, Rogue finished her snack, still brooding over the exchange. Maybe the grouchy Canadian wasn't quite the cynic she had initially thought he was. In that case, it suddenly made sense why he had aligned himself with the Professor, who seemed to be the epitome of optimism. Deep down, maybe Logan really bought into the idea of humans and mutants living together in peace.  
  
P  
  
Or maybe he was just screwing with her head.  
  
P  
  
Her emerald green eyes cast a sideways glance at him. He was leaning back in his seat, engrossed in his newspaper once again. His brows knitted themselves together as the rest of his countenance drew together into his usual frown. If he were joking around, he would certainly say something and probably throw in a smirk. Or, he would continue to put on his poker face. At this time, it was somewhat hard to tell what his intentions actually were. No surprise since Logan was a hard person to read in general anyway.  
  
P  
  
Rogue sighed, clearly exasperated. She wasn't in the mood to ponder either way, nor was she in the mood to return to studying for her geometry mid- term. Brushing the crumbs from the sides of her mouth, she asked, "Any other news?"  
  
P  
  
He snorted, not raising his eyes to meet her face. "Figured I upset you enough anyway."  
  
P  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "Ah'm not upset."  
  
P  
  
The paper lowered enough to reveal a hint of an amused, knowing smile. "I can hear it in your voice, Rogue. Never try to lie to someone with super sensitive ears. Gets ya nowhere."  
  
P  
  
"Ah take a mental note of that," she responded sardonically. "Logan?"  
  
P  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
P  
  
"Ya never told me what ya were readin' about."  
  
P  
  
"Wasn't goin' to, Rogue."  
  
P  
  
"Why not?"  
  
P  
  
"Don't want to upset you again."  
  
P  
  
"Ah promise Ah won't get upset. Ah just wanna hear about somethin' else besides these murders. Anythin'. Even the sports section would do. Just tell me about what ya were readin'."  
  
P  
  
Logan quirked one of his brows at the young girl. For someone who wanted to project the image of not caring about much of anything, there was a startingly pleading tone to her voice just now. It was as if she was struggling to find some piece of hope and optimism of her own in this atmosphere of darkness and terror. Usually, he would brush off the request and tell her to go upstairs and finish her homework. However, there was something about Rogue that touched him at that moment. It evoked feelings within him to protect and to provide reassurances that at the end of the day, he would be her rock. He would be the rock for her and the rest of the students.  
  
P  
  
Sighing, he narrowed his eyes. "You know that movie star Kitty and Rahne are crazy about?"  
  
P  
  
Rogue wiped away her milk moustache and scooted closer to the instructor. "Yeah? Oh, Ben Affleck?" Her roommate had posters of the celluloid star plastered on the walls of the room they shared together.  
  
P  
  
"Well, he's got another movie that's playing tonight at the Uptown." He flipped the page to show her the large advertisement.  
  
P  
  
The young girl made a face. "Ya were right, Logan. Ah'm feelin' upset again already." 


	6. Chapter Six It's All Been Done

Chapter Six: It's All Been Done  
  
Thanks for the reviews guys! Keep them coming.  
  
The next chapters are basically other people's reactions to what's going on.  
  
As usual, all of the characters belong to Marvel except for Walsh and Tom.  
  
P  
  
Given the early curfew imposed, the instructors decided to hold extra Danger Room sessions for all of the students. These extra sessions were also longer and more intense, much to many of the younger students' chagrin. In addition to the usual exhaustion, they also received bruises, cuts, and bumps as souvenirs of their time in the Danger Room.  
  
P  
  
Jamie "Multiple" Madrox found himself wandering into the dining hall of the Institute after his own time in the Danger Room with some of the older recruits like Ray, Tabitha, Roberto, Bobby, and Sam. As one of the younger students, Jamie was usually left out of these exercises. So when Mr. McCoy offered him the opportunity to join the group today, he was quite excited. However, that excitement soon faded after he stepped inside the training area. It had been a draining three hours of dodging lasers, robots, and whizzing projectiles. All of his duplicates shared his sense of exhaustion. It only intensified once he reabsorbed them.  
  
P  
  
He seated himself at his usual spot with Bobby, Ray, and Sam at the dining table. Serving himself a helping of roasted chicken and vegetables, he peered over at the other side of the table. Sitting there was Kitty and her boyfriend, Lance Alvers, a member of the Brotherhood. Jamie tossed the others a puzzled look.  
  
P  
  
"What's he doing here?" he asked, buttering his cheddar-bacon biscuit. He didn't know the guy personally, but from he heard from Scott and Kurt, Lance was bad news---talking back to teachers at school, sometimes bullying other students, and resorting to underhanded means to fight with the students from the Institute.  
  
P  
  
Meanwhile, Jamie had his own reasons for not liking Lance. He was nursing a secret crush on Kitty. But being only twelve years old and the youngest student at the Institute placed him at a disadvantage. Kitty tended to think of him as a sweet boy who reminded her of her younger brother back in Chicago, not boyfriend material. For now, he chose to settle on friendship.  
  
P  
  
Bobby shrugged, sipping his milk. "Yeah, Kitty invited him for dinner after school today," he answered, "Since they can't go out together and hold hands under the apple tree outside of school, she asked the Professor and Scott if Rebel Without a Clue could hang out with her here."  
  
P  
  
Jamie's eyes widened. "I can't believe Scott agreed to let him come over."  
  
P  
  
"Why do you think he's sitting at the other end of the table?" Sam nodded in that direction, trying not to look at the scowling Scott Summers. "I heard he put up a stink about the whole thing, but the Professor overruled him."  
  
P  
  
Ray chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Yeah, but it's kind of funny to watch. Lance has been talking trash to Scott since he got here, but Scott can't say or do anything."  
  
P  
  
"Makes him a perfect candidate for an enema," Bobby chimed in, laughing.  
  
P  
  
Sam made a face, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clang. "Gross, Bobby."  
  
P  
  
At the other end of the table, Lance stuffed the remaining cheddar-bacon biscuit into his mouth. While he was chewing, he noticed a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy glaring at him from the other side of the room. He nudged his girlfriend slightly. "Who's the geek?" he asked.  
  
P  
  
"Huh?" Kitty's brown ponytail swung as she followed his gaze. Her lips instantly curled into a smile. "Oh, that's Jamie. He's one of the students here. Didn't you meet him while you joined us briefly?" She was referring to his short stint as an X-Man several months ago.  
  
P  
  
Lance smirked. "Can't say I really make an effort to keep up with all the geeks you live with, Kitty," he replied, shooting a look over at Scott, who was talking with Jean and Kurt.  
  
P  
  
"Lance!" Kitty chided, ignoring a knowing look from Rogue, who was sitting next to her. "Jamie's not a geek. He's a sweet kid."  
  
P  
  
"And a little twerp. If he doesn't stop staring, I'll give him a reason to stop." Lance snarled in Jamie's direction. In response, Jamie's face drained of all color as he hid behind an oblivious Sam Guthrie.  
  
P  
  
Kitty leaned towards him and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Come on. Can you try to at least make an effort for me? This is the only way we can spend time together until they lift this curfew." Her blue eyes were pleading.  
  
P  
  
His smirk immediately disappeared. Under the table, he reached for her hand and squeezed it slightly. "Sorry. You know I don't really mean all that. I was just trying to be funny."  
  
P  
  
"You need to try a little harder," she said, pouting.  
  
P  
  
Lance grinned slyly. "I can try harder at other things, too."  
  
P  
  
Rogue heard his comment, thanks to some residual powers from Logan after absorbing several months ago. She dropped her fork on her plate and immediately bolted out of her chair. "That's it. Ah'm done." She then disappeared into the kitchen.  
  
P  
  
Several minutes later, Cook came out to announce that dessert was just about ready. The rotund British woman surveyed the crowded dining room, looking for a volunteer to help her clear the dishes. While she clearly remembered many of the students helping her recently, she had not received any assistance from Jamie. She called out the young boy's name and instructed him to start gathering the dishes. As she sauntered back into the kitchen, she remembered to add, "And no using your powers."  
  
P  
  
Jamie groaned. Three of him would have easily finished the task in two minutes. Sighing, he began to follow Cook into the kitchen to get the metal dish cart.  
  
P  
  
Scott narrowed his eyes behind his ruby-quartz sunglasses as he peered over at Lance and Kitty who were now standing by one of the windows in the dining room. He struggled to restrain himself from frowning. He had promised the Professor and Kitty not to be overtly hostile about Lance Alvers being at the mansion. However, given the history between himself and the other boy, he found the promise difficult to keep.  
  
P  
  
"Kinda makes you wish the police were working faster on catching that murderer," Jean said, her voice breaking into his thoughts.  
  
P  
  
He turned to her, smiling sheepishly. "Well, you have to say, I've been pretty good so far."  
  
P  
  
"Because you've been staying away from them all afternoon and this evening," she pointed out, tugging on the sleeve of his gray thermal shirt and encouraging him to leave the table while the dishes were being cleared. She grabbed his elbow and began to lead him over to where the couple was standing. "Come on. She's your friend. She obviously knows something's up when you're sulking in the corner."  
  
P  
  
Scott grimaced, realizing the redhead was right. That didn't mean it made it any easier to approach Alvers. The kid was trouble and it was only a matter of time until Kitty realized that. In the meantime, he decided to keep his nose out of the whole situation. He attempted to resist Jean's urging, but found himself walking against his will. Frowning, he looked over at her and wondered if she was using her powers to move him. She merely flashed him a broad smile.  
  
P  
  
"Hey guys," Kitty greeted, surprised by Scott and Jean standing in front of her and Lance. "Um, what's up?"  
  
P  
  
"Not much," Jean replied, firmly linking her arm through Scott's and forcing him to stand by her side. She could tell by his irritated expression he wanted to desperately leave.  
  
P  
  
Kitty seemed not to have noticed. Instead, she said, "So, I heard the Professor's helping the police with their investigation. Maybe they'll be able to catch the killer sooner and we can be safe again."  
  
P  
  
"Xavier's a psychic, right?" Lance asked, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
P  
  
Jean nodded. "Why do you ask?"  
  
P  
  
He brushed his dark hair from his eyes, looking rather skeptical. "So, then why doesn't read the killer's mind and then make him stop? Or better yet, find out who the person is and lead the police to him?"  
  
P  
  
"It's not that easy," Jean explained, shaking her red hair over her shoulders. "I'm sure it's not that easy, I mean."  
  
P  
  
Lance smirked. "Why not? If he's as powerful mutant as many people think he is, then why can't he do it?"  
  
P  
  
Scott scowled. "Well, none of us know what he's doing exactly or the other details about the cases," he managed through gritted teeth. "So, it's easy for you to have your opinions, Alvers."  
  
P  
  
"Maybe instead of playing mind games, we should take matters into our own hands and find the scum responsible." Lance then snorted as he raised his brows at Scott. "Oh, I forgot. You guys aren't allowed."  
  
P  
  
Scott adjusted his sunglasses. "Like you'd be able to do anything. You wouldn't be able to even find your way to school if you didn't have Kitty here."  
  
P  
  
"Scott!" Jean gave him a stern look.  
  
P  
  
Lance raised his hand, watching Cook bring out the desserts to serve. "Well, at least I'd be doing something instead of sitting in my big mansion and hiding."  
  
P  
  
"You're not going to be doing anything," Kitty corrected, eyes wide with worry and concern. The thought of Lance roaming the streets of Bayville alone to look for the killer forced a wave of fear over her.  
  
P  
  
Scott rolled his eyes, observing Kitty's pained and worried expression.  
  
P  
  
Jamie took in the scene warily, having just finished collecting the dishes. Cook had promised him some chocolate cake for his assistance and assured him that it was waiting for him in the dining room. He watched the other students eating dessert for that evening, apple pie and vanilla ice cream and cranberry sorbet. Noticeably absent was his chocolate cake.  
  
P  
  
"Where's my cake?" he demanded when he reached his friends, who were sitting where Kitty and the others were standing.  
  
P  
  
"It'll be here, Jamie. Just be patient. Cook had to go back into the kitchen and get you another slice because one of the students accidentally sat on it." Sam replied pouring himself a glass of milk.  
  
P  
  
"Bastard," Jamie growled. "I want my cake! All work and no cake makes Jamie very pissed off!"  
  
P  
  
"Calm down, Jamie. It'll be here." Bobby patted Jamie on the shoulder, but the younger boy started growling.  
  
P  
  
Lance was in the middle of taunting Scott about being too afraid to hunt down the killer when he heard Jamie. Annoyed, he turned to the boy and snapped, "What are you doing?"  
  
P  
  
Jamie glared at him, ignoring the snickers of Bobby, Ray, and Sam. "I'm a little upset."  
  
P  
  
"Well, cut it out."  
  
P  
  
"I don't tell you how to express your feelings."  
  
P  
  
"That's 'cause I'm not a pain in the ass when I do."  
  
P  
  
"That's kind of hard to believe."  
  
P  
  
Silence.  
  
P  
  
Lance narrowed his eyes, almost surprised with the gall on the part of the younger and much smaller boy. Despite Kitty's insistent pulling on his sleeve, signaling for him to calm down, he decided to teach the punk a lesson. Even though he had aligned himself with the Brotherhood, Lance would never severely hurt another person. He much preferred intimidation and other scare tactics.  
  
P  
  
"What did you just say?" he snapped, feigning deep rage.  
  
P  
  
Jamie swallowed hard. He thought about taking back what he said and immediately apologizing. The tension around the murders was surely getting to this guy's brain. At the same time, Kitty was standing right next to him. As much as he didn't want any bodily harm to come to him, Jamie couldn't stand the thought of losing face in front of her.  
  
P  
  
Finally, he blurted out, "I said that's kind of hard to believe."  
  
P  
  
Lance peered around him, the stares of the other students boring into his skin. Like Jamie, he didn't want to look bad in front of Kitty either. He gave the shorter boy a shove and began to stalk out of the dining room. "Outside, loser."  
  
P  
  
Jamie's eyes widened, but he quickly followed the member of the Brotherhood into the recreation room. Jean and Kitty were about go after the two boys to stop the confrontation when Scott stopped them. Kitty pulled her arm from his grasp.  
  
P  
  
"What is with you?" she demanded, motioning to the doorway. "I know Lance is no angel, but I also know he has a nasty temper. I don't want Jamie to get hurt."  
  
P  
  
"They'll be back," Scott replied with a smug expression on his face.  
  
P  
  
Kitty gave him a perplexed look. "What makes you so sure?" Usually, Scott would be the first one to intervene. There would be no way he would allow Lance to even consider hurting a student at the Institute.  
  
P  
  
The senior shrugged nonchalantly. "Two reasons. One, Jamie hasn't had his chocolate cake yet, and two, I put a tiny bit of it in Lance's jean jacket pocket."  
  
P  
  
When the two boys reached the recreation room, Lance roughly grabbed Jamie's arm. "What do you think you're doing?" he barked, not noticing that Scott, Jean, and Kitty had followed them.  
  
P  
  
"Let me go!" Jamie whined.  
  
P  
  
Lance sneered. "Not until you apologize you little shrimp."  
  
P  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kitty standing on the other side of the room. She looked upset, but wasn't doing anything to step in. "I don't wanna! Let me go! I haven't had my cake yet!"  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, Jamie sniffed the air and stopped squirming. His nose could detect chocolate cake crumbs within a mile radius, much like a shark could detect a drop of blood within the same distance. He picked up a strong scent of chocolate and immediately began pawing at Lance.  
  
P  
  
"What are ya doin'?" Lance looked confused.  
  
P  
  
Jamie sniffed loudly. "Where's my cake?" he demanded.  
  
P  
  
"I don't have your stupid cake, now stop pokin' at me!" Lance released Jamie. When Jamie started circling around him, Lance shrank back slightly. "Cut that out!"  
  
P  
  
"I want my cake, asshole!"  
  
P  
  
"I said I don't have it!"  
  
P  
  
That answer was not satisfactory to Jamie. He lunged at him and knocked him on his back. The younger boy separated into three clones of himself. He and the clones then jumped on the Brotherhood member and started pawing at him again.  
  
P  
  
"Get off!" Lance yelled, trying to shake his three attackers from his limbs, but to no avail.  
  
P  
  
The clones clawed at Lance's neck. "I want my cake, dammit!"  
  
P  
  
Scott cocked his head to the side, quite amused with the scene playing out before him. He nudged Kitty and Jean. "See, what'd I tell ya?"  
  
P  
  
"How did you know Jamie could handle himself?" Jean inquired, somewhat disturbed that the leader of the team was rather nonchalant about the situation. "Did he really do well during his Danger Room sessions?"  
  
P  
  
He shook his head. "Nah. Talking with Bobby and Sam. Apparently, Jamie has a insatiable and vicious sweet tooth, especially when it comes to chocolate cake."  
  
P  
  
Kitty slapped Scott's shoulder, irritated. "You have to do something. I don't know how much longer Lance is going to keep his cool."  
  
P  
  
Scott realized that she was right. As the minutes wore on, it became more and more likely that the other boy would lose his temper and summon an earthquake. He pulled out a plate of chocolate cake from behind his back and held out. Almost immediately, Jamie and his clones leapfrogged off of Kitty's boyfriend. He snatched the plate from Scott's hand and began shoving cake into his mouth, reabsorbing the clones.  
  
P  
  
"Mmmm...Cake..." Jamie sighed, his mouth full. The corners of his mouth were already smeared with chocolate frosting.  
  
P  
  
"Was it worth waiting for?" Scott asked.  
  
P  
  
Jamie never looked up. "Can't talk...eating..."  
  
P  
  
Lance glared up at Scott, while being assisted by Kitty to his feet. She smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothing and asked if he was all right. While humiliated, he began to soften when he realized he had Kitty's undivided attention. The urge to call up a small quake at the mansion soon faded.  
  
P  
  
Scott cupped a hand over his mouth, muffling his laughter. He was about to share his amusement with Jean when she suddenly fell to knees. She clutched the sides of her head, wincing and moaning. Scott dropped to the floor, wrapping an arm around her.  
  
P  
  
"Jean? Jean? What is it?" Scott motioned for Kitty and the others to find someone to help. She and Lance raced out of the recreation room, followed by a chocolate-covered Jamie.  
  
P  
  
The redhead buried her face against the carpet of the room. Her head felt like it was on fire. Sharp and shooting pain raced up and down her skull like a wild fire. "Help me," she cried.  
  
P  
  
"I'm here, Jean. It's Scott. What's happening?"  
  
P  
  
"Help me. Oh, please help me.. You're killing me! You're killing me! Stop it! Stop it, please!"  
  
P  
  
"Jean, how can I help you? Who's hurting you?"  
  
P  
  
"I can't breathe.. You're killing.. Oh, noooooooooooo..."  
  
P  
  
The young girl's body collapsed against the floor, her skin drenched in a cold sweat. Scott quickly gathered her into his arms and discovered she was breathing shallow breaths. He cradled her in his arms, whispering for her to answer him. She did not, her eyes closed.  
  
P  
  
He was about to call out for help when he saw the steel wheels of the Professor's wheelchair glide across the carpeted floor. "Professor, help.. It's Jean.. She's---she's.." Words seem to fail to formulate in his mouth. Resignedly, his shoulders sank when he realized how helpless he was.  
  
P  
  
Xavier held his hand up. "It is all right, Scott. Jean is fine."  
  
P  
  
The young man looked up at his teacher incredulously. "What do you mean? You didn't see her. She was screaming like she was in pain. She was crying about someone killing her."  
  
P  
  
Professor Xavier placed his fingertips over his right temple. While he had his suspicions as to what knocked out Jean Grey, he had to confirm it for himself. After a brief moment, he received his answer. "Psychic residue," he said grimly. "Jean was receiving psychic residue, which drained her."  
  
P  
  
Scott rose to his feet, carrying Jean in his arms. "Psychic residue? From where?"  
  
P  
  
Xavier steered his chair out of the room. "Make sure Jean gets some rest," he instructed crisply, "Otherwise, she will be quite tired and unable to attend school in the morning. I have to make a trip into town."  
  
P  
  
Scott scrambled after the older man, his concern transferring to the man he considered to be his father. "Where are you going?"  
  
P  
  
The Professor paused in the doorway, his face expressionless. "The police station," he answered quietly. "I think something has happened." 


	7. Chapter Seven Digging in the Dirt

Chapter Seven: Digging in the Dirt  
  
Sorry it took so long. Been working on other things.  
  
All the characters belong to Marvel except Det. Walsh.  
  
P  
  
It should have been no surprise to Walsh that Professor Xavier and his associate, Mr. Logan, stormed into her office that evening. Her first impression of him indicated that he was the vigilant community activist--- well, if your community consisted of mutants. He also seemed to be the type of person who thought she never clocked out and had no life of her own outside of the police station. Granted, he was somewhat accurate, but it was still embarrassing nonetheless. These days, piles of paperwork were becoming a steady companion for the young detective.  
  
P  
  
She sat back at her desk, finishing the grilled chicken and pasta she had just picked up for dinner. Her dark eyes lit up with interest as the Professor wheeled into her office in his sleek, stainless steel wheelchair. His face was determinedly grim, as if he had some urgent business to deal with. As usual, he was impeccably dressed without a wrinkle in his clothing. Following close behind was the laconic man, Mr. Logan, who merely greeted her with a brisk nod before closing the door shut. Unlike the older man he accompanied, Mr. Logan was the epitome of a lumberjack--- boot-cut, faded jeans, black boots, and a black T-shirt under a leather jacket.  
  
P  
  
"Professor," Walsh greeted, chewing quickly. She took a sip of her Coke to help swallow the food down. Dabbing the corners of her brightly painted mouth with a napkin, she said, "You'll have to excuse me. The captain's got me working a late shift and this was the only time available for me to grab a bite. What can I do for you at this late hour?" Her dark eyes narrowed when she noted the time on her digital clock.  
  
P  
  
The older man's face was lined with concern. "I'm afraid there's been another murder tonight," he replied, parking his chair in front of her desk.  
  
P  
  
She raised her brows. "Someone called you about a body?" she asked dryly. "And to think, I thought I was supposed to handle things like that. You know, being a detective and all."  
  
P  
  
A low growl emanated from Logan's lips as he sank into a vacant chair. He wasn't in the mood to be entertained by someone who wanted to moonlight as a comedian. Before he could come back with a retort, the Professor intervened, cutting him off.  
  
P  
  
"One of my students and I received some psychic residue from a dying mutant about an hour ago," he explained gravely. "I suspect it was at the hands of the killer who's been targeting the mutants of this town. It was just too similar to the mind of the first victim whose mind I scanned a couple of days ago."  
  
P  
  
Walsh frowned at him, tucking a lock of copper hair behind her ear. Her overly made-up features arranged themselves into a skeptical expression. "What do you mean by 'psychic residue'?" she inquired.  
  
P  
  
Xavier folded his delicate hands together. "Before dying, the mutant was projecting feelings and thoughts.. My student and I, as telepaths, were able to pick up on these projections. It does not happen all the time, which is why I come to you tonight."  
  
P  
  
"So, it's like you're experiencing what the mutant's experiencing," Walsh surmised, cutting into her chicken delicately. "That means you can see the killer, right?"  
  
P  
  
The Professor shook his head ruefully. "No. For some reason, I could not pick up on the killer's face or anything else about him. The mutant was probably taken off guard before being attacked."  
  
P  
  
After picking up on the projections, Xavier attempted to use Cerebro to obtain additional information about the dead mutant and the killer. Unfortunately, the locator failed to turn up anything else in spite of his efforts. It was almost as if the mutant and the killer had vanished into thin air, erasing any trace. However, the perceptions and thoughts rang vivid in the Professor's mind, convincing him that something indeed had occurred that night.  
  
P  
  
"OK," the cherubic-faced detective said slowly, putting down her knife and fork. "What about a location? A name for the would-be victim?"  
  
P  
  
Again, Professor Xavier shook his head. "Nothing too specific, I'm afraid."  
  
P  
  
Walsh sighed, trying to keep her patience. It had been a long day for the young detective, working a series of unsolved assault cases in addition to this murder case. She had been in an hour-long meeting with the captain regarding the status of this case. While he was not advocating adding any more resources, he implicitly stated that he wanted to see the murders dealt with. Now, the Professor, as kind and genteel as he was, was expecting her to investigate what might be another murder, based on some kind of vision. For some reason, it was all too much.  
  
P  
  
Before she could express her weariness and wariness of the situation, the Professor broke the brief silence. "Detective, I know you're finding this all hard to accept."  
  
P  
  
"Then you also realize that I can't jump like some kind of hound at the promise of something that may or may not be relevant to the series of homicides in Bayville. I am only one person. The department's only allowing me on this case. I have no other support. Just me."  
  
P  
  
"Detective Walsh, I have a responsibility to my students and other mutants in the community. Remember, I have a stake in making sure these murders are solved."  
  
P  
  
"I understand, but I have to be responsible to my superiors and the people of this town."  
  
P  
  
"And I see where you're coming from---"  
  
P  
  
"Then you can appreciate the delicate position I am in. It just would not be responsible of me to investigate something based on a hunch."  
  
P  
  
"How is exploring what I have to tell you irresponsible?"  
  
P  
  
"Because you've given me nothing to go on. You come into my office, saying you think another mutant's been murdered. But wait, you don't know where I can find the body or the crime scene.. Then there's the fact that you say you experienced whatever the person was going through, but can't give me anything about a possible suspect. What am I supposed to do?"  
  
P  
  
"I know it sounds like a lot to accept and that it goes against logic---"  
  
P  
  
"It is, Professor. Do you know what would happen if my boss found out I was going on a wild goose chase based on some psychic visions? I'd be fired so fast.."  
  
P  
  
"Look," Logan cut in gruffly, quirking a brow at the young detective. While he understood her position, he had to take Xavier's side on this one, seeing how he had some in-depth knowledge about his abilities. "Just hear Chuck out. Whatever he has to say might help or it might not. All you have to do is sit back and listen. Think you can handle that, Walsh?"  
  
P  
  
Both the Professor and Detective Walsh stared at the usually quiet, brooding man in stunned silence.  
  
P  
  
"What?" Logan demanded, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.  
  
P  
  
Walsh shook head, copper hair forming a thick cloud about her chubby cheeks. "Nothing," she responded. Then she leaned forward in her chair and nodded at Xavier. "Well, Professor, if you've got anything else, I'm all ears."  
  
P  
  
The Professor glanced over at Logan, who was trying to hide a smirk. He inhaled sharply as he proceeded to scan the images in his mind. Xavier worked to separate them from the terrified thoughts and sensations. Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate.  
  
P  
  
"There are street lamps, but they are broken.. It's very hard to see much," he began, his voice gravelly and calm.  
  
P  
  
Walsh's thin brows furrowed thoughtfully. "What else do you see?" she inquired, her voice dropping to a whisper.  
  
P  
  
"There is some trash scattered on the ground.. And a building."  
  
P  
  
"What kind of building is it?"  
  
P  
  
"Maybe one-story. I can't tell what color it is.. It's too dark to see."  
  
P  
  
"Does it look familiar?"  
  
P  
  
"No, I have never seen this place before."  
  
P  
  
"Are there any other landmarks around?"  
  
P  
  
"No, there's just an empty lot.. Wait, there's something."  
  
P  
  
"What is it, Professor?"  
  
P  
  
"A movie screen. Yes, it's a movie screen."  
  
P  
  
"A movie screen?"  
  
P  
  
"Yes."  
  
P  
  
Logan grunted. "The old lot on Baker Street," he piped up, narrowing his eyes. "There used to be a drive-in movie theatre. Most of the screens were taken down. The town's been slow as to what to do with it. Not exactly in the nicest part of town."  
  
P  
  
Professor Xavier opened his eyes. He peered into the expressionless face of the young woman. "Well, Detective?"  
  
P  
  
"Well, Professor," she said, "I think we're all going on a ride."  
  
P  
  
Detective Walsh's 1990 blue-gray Dodge Aries hummed as it pulled to a stop at a traffic light. The young woman looked very small behind the wheel of the large car. Despite the fact that she had pushed the seat close to the dashboard, she still had some problems reaching the pedals of the car. The interior also still smelled of cigars, thanks to the previous owner. There was no tape deck or CD player, just an AM/FM radio that sometimes worked. For all these drawbacks, she could not bear to part with the jalopy. It was her baby---the first car she could afford right after college.  
  
P  
  
Logan followed her close behind in the black Lincoln town car that accommodated the Professor's wheelchair. He watched the turn light of Walsh's car flicker under the dark sky. There was a part of him that was amused that Walsh had chosen such a large car to drive. It was almost like some kind of strange caricature.  
  
P  
  
As he took his foot off the brake, Logan drawled in a husky voice, "Chuck, I've never asked you this before---"  
  
P  
  
"But you want to know whether or not we're really going to find anything," the Professor completed from the backseat.  
  
P  
  
Logan sighed, still following the detective's car. "I know I shouldn't asked ya, given what I've seen over the years."  
  
P  
  
"I know it seems hard to believe."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah. Doesn't it bother you?"  
  
P  
  
"Whatever do you mean, my old friend?"  
  
P  
  
"I mean, bein' able to get all those thoughts of people dyin'.. I've seen soldiers die in war and that messed me up for a while."  
  
P  
  
"It is haunting, yes. But I think I am receiving these projections for a reason."  
  
P  
  
"To help the police."  
  
P  
  
"Yes, so that we are all safe and can get on with our lives. I can sense the impatience of the students."  
  
P  
  
Logan chuckled softly. "Yeah, you missed out on Kitty's boyfriend coming over for dinner." While he was an instructor at the school and supposed to set an example for the children, he had to admit he did enjoy the scene between Lance and Jamie.  
  
P  
  
The two cars finally pulled into the empty lot on Baker Street. The former drive-in theatre was littered with cigarette butts, broken glass, and newspapers. Overgrown weeds that sprouted up from cracks in the cement populated the area. Light from the full moon compensated for the broken street lamps that flanked the street. A few yards away was a lone movie screen, resting on rusted, metal supports. Nearby was an concession stand that stood one-story tall, now boarded up.  
  
P  
  
So far, no sign of any body.  
  
P  
  
Walsh hopped out of her car, pulling out her crime scene kit. She watched Logan help the Professor out of the town car. Flicking on her flashlight, she quickly scanned the perimeter for anything unusual. Litter crunched under her boots as she sauntered towards the two men.  
  
P  
  
"Here we are, Professor," she said, breath swirling out of her mouth in the cool evening air. "I don't see anything that seems to indicate that someone was here. Can you point me in a certain direction?"  
  
P  
  
Professor Xavier frowned, closing his eyes in concentration. This was definitely the place he had seen from the dying mutant's eyes. It almost sent a shiver throughout his entire being as he observed these surroundings. It was then that he heard the mutant's voice echoing in his head.  
  
P  
  
I"Help me. Oh, please help me.. You're killing me! You're killing me! Stop it! Stop it, please! I can't breathe.. You're killing.. Oh, noooooooooooo..."/I  
  
P  
  
His eyes opened, searching for a more specific area to find something. All he was certain of was that this was the location. Nothing more.  
  
P  
  
"No, Detective Walsh," he finally replied, wheeling his chair so that he was in front of her. "I know that this is the place, but I am unable to pinpoint as to where exactly the mutant was killed."  
  
P  
  
I This is going to be one of those nights, /I she thought, heaving her shoulders. From the determined looks she was receiving from the Professor and Mr. Logan, it appeared as if they were not going to be discouraged right away. I Might as well humor them, I guess. /I  
  
P  
  
"Well, let's start off with a small radius to search and branch out by a couple yards from there," she sighed, tossing Logan an extra flashlight with a gloved hand. "You and the Professor take the east end, I'll cover the west."  
  
P  
  
Logan gave a brisk nod before marching alongside the Professor in that direction.  
  
P  
  
Initially, his nose wasn't able to pick up on anything except for stale cigarettes and spilt beer. The lot was known to attract many of Bayville's homeless population for its seclusion. While he was aware that Xavier's status as one of the most powerful mutants in the world, there was a part of him that could not help to doubt. What if Walsh was right? What if this was some kind of wild goose chase? Looking down at the man who rolled down the dirt path next to him, he realized that this was one of the few people he could and should trust.  
  
P  
  
It was then that his nose caught something faint.  
  
P  
  
It was then that one of the wheels from the Professor's chair caught on something.  
  
P  
  
Crouching down, Logan shone the flashlight over the wheel. A dark, thick liquid oozed along the spokes of the wheel. He sniffed sharply over the spot on the ground. Blood---a whole pool of it surrounded the area where the two men were. Quickly, he pushed Xavier's chair out of the puddle and onto drier ground. Logan, operating on instinct alone, began to dig with his hands around the area. He did not have to dig very deep until his fingers met some resistance. Focusing the flashlight over the spot, his dark eyes widened as to what he saw next.  
  
P  
  
Under the dim light, there was what might have been a face. The flesh had been carefully removed with expert precision. All that could be seen were tissue and bone, now speckled with dirt. The mouth with its exposed teeth was open, as if the person had still been screaming while underneath the dirt. Over the soft palate were maggots, already making a feast of the corpse.  
  
P  
  
Logan stepped back, ignoring the questioning of Xavier nearby. He simply stared in disbelief at the face and then at his own bloody hands. He did not even register his own voice calling for Walsh to come over. 


	8. Chapter Eight Beautiful Stranger

Chapter Eight: Beautiful Stranger  
  
Here's another chapter. I wanted to introduce another character into the mix.  
  
All the characters belong to Marvel, except for Det. Walsh and other members of the Bayville police department.  
  
P  
  
Snow had fallen across Bayville the following morning at a steady and furious rate. Almost half a foot of snow accumulated outside. This prompted Principal Kelly to send the students, faculty, and staff home early. Many of the students immediately flooded outside the school, making the journey to their respective homes.  
  
P  
  
A group of students from the Xavier Institute decided to make a stop at one of the nearby parks. Given that they had several hours until curfew, none of them saw the harm of taking their time to get back to the mansion. Led by Ray and Bobby, the group included Sam Guthrie, Kurt, Jamie, and Roberto. The boys wanted to take advantage of the soft snow that blanketed the ground, which happened to be perfect for packing together to form snow forts.  
  
P  
  
Ray noticed Jamie standing several yards away. The younger boy was wearing his usual spaced-out look. Always in the mood to put Jamie in his place, he came up with an idea. He whispered to Bobby, Sam, and Kurt. Then, on the count of three, the older boys launched a snowball assault on the hapless Multiple.  
  
P  
  
Jamie was so startled that he tripped and fell face-first into the snow. "You guys are jerks!" he shouted, which elicited even more laughs from his attackers.  
  
P  
  
Roberto had witnessed the entire incident. He shook his head, feeling sorry for Jamie. The newer recruit made a snowball of his own and threw it at the back of Ray's head. The taller boy with blond hair and orange bangs stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around.  
  
P  
  
"Did you just throw a snowball at me?" Ray snorted, brushing the snow from his platinum-blond hair with a gloved hand. He should have known. Da Costa was always trying to get on his bad side.  
  
P  
  
Roberto feigned innocence. "What? Someone threw a snowball at you? Who would do somethin' like that?" he asked in a voice, dripping with guilelessness.  
  
P  
  
"How stupid do you think I am?"  
  
P  
  
"Honestly?"  
  
P  
  
"That's a rhetorical question! Come here."  
  
P  
  
"No, you come here."  
  
P  
  
"Are you for real?"  
  
P  
  
Roberto smirked, black waves curling over his thick eyebrows. "Are you an idiot?"  
  
P  
  
Ray sneered as he crossed his arms over his lanky chest. He began storming towards the other boy. "I got three words for you, buddy. Dead man walking."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, well, I got three words for you," Roberto replied, cheeks flushed from the icy air. "Kiss my butt."  
  
P  
  
That did it. Ray charged at him, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Roberto grabbed the other mutant boy and flipped him over his shoulder. Ray landed hard on his back, stunned. A string of profanities began spewing from his mouth. When he managed to rise to his feet, his eyes darted around as he looked for someone to nail with a snowball. The other boys, including Jamie, saw the fury in his eyes. In response, they hid behind Roberto.  
  
P  
  
Finally, Kurt jumped from behind Roberto and positioned himself between the two sparring boys. "Guys, guys," he cried out, waving his hands in the air. "Let's simmer down. Vhy don't ve settle our differences vit a friendly contest?"  
  
P  
  
Roberto gave him a quizzical look. "What do you have in mind, Kurt?"  
  
P  
  
In response, Kurt's eyes flicked over to the nearby garbage cans mischievously.  
  
P  
  
"Mothaf**kaaaaaaaaa.." Ray yelled as he careened down the steep hill on a garbage can lid. He hit a snow bank and was catapulted forward into it. Hooting in the air, he quickly brushed himself off and rose excitedly to his feet.  
  
P  
  
Meanwhile, Sam and Jamie were poised at the top of the hill, ready for their turn. Bobby waved his hand, giving them the signal to go. It was a tight race between Cannonball and Multiple. After a few seconds, it appeared that Sam was winning until Jamie hit a bump and went spinning sideways into him. The two boys tumbled down the hill and came to a stop in the same snow bank Ray had hit.  
  
P  
  
"Ow," said Sam, rubbing his head. He could have sworn there was some snow in his ears. He shook his head vigorously to get it out.  
  
P  
  
"Double ow," Jamie echoed the other boy's sentiment.  
  
P  
  
They soon brushed themselves off and watched as Roberto prepare for his own descent. Unfortunately, the native Brazilian's ride didn't last very long. The garbage can lid he was riding on hit a rock hidden under the snow and was tossed forward in the air. He bounced twice, and then somersaulted the rest of the way down the hill.  
  
P  
  
Bobby crossed his arms and shook his head, watching. "No good can come of that."  
  
P  
  
Roberto crashed headfirst into the snow bank. Sam and Jamie jogged over to where the other boy landed. When they pulled him out and into a sitting position, Roberto was missing his gray, wool ski hat, matching scarf, one of his brown hiking boots, and both his black, leather gloves. Bobby, Kurt, and Ray raced down the hill to join the others at the bottom.  
  
P  
  
"Roberto, are you okay?" Sam asked, his face filled with worried.  
  
P  
  
At first, Roberto did not answer. He was too busy waiting for the world to stop spinning. His onyx eyes took on a slightly glazed quality to them. In the meantime, Jamie found Roberto's other boot and put it back on the other boy's foot. Bobby found Roberto's hat and one of his gloves. Nearby, Kurt found his scarf and his other glove.  
  
P  
  
Kurt waved his fingers in front of the fallen boy's face. "Roberto?"  
  
P  
  
Slowly, a grin spread across Sunspot's face. "That kicked ass! I wanna do it again!" He then raced back up the hill.  
  
P  
  
Across the street from the park was a vintage, red convertible with a white racing stripe down the middle. Rogue sat inside, bundled up in a silver down-jacket over her navy turtleneck and black jeans. Her green eyes were distant as she watched Scott scurry into the convenience store. He wanted to pick up salt for the driveway at the mansion, as well as some snacks for the students.  
  
P  
  
She frowned, her mind drifting to the night before. She had approached Logan earlier that evening, before dinner, just to say hello. For some reason, the loner appeared deep in his own thoughts, so she tapped him on the shoulder with a gloved hand. Usually, such a gesture would have been greeted with a soft grunt or the mention of her name.  
  
P  
  
Instead, it unnerved him. He had spun around, claws extended. After a few tense seconds, he retracted them. Then he began firing a host of questions- --"Where did you come from? Why couldn't I hear you coming? Why couldn't I smell you?" Frightened, Rogue initially mumbled an "I don't know" and darted into the dining room. Having never seen Logan this unhinged, it was a strange and startling experience. She had heard a story about similar behavior from Kitty and Kurt when they found a delusional Logan pursuing Sabretooth. Yet, nothing really prepared her for his reaction.  
  
P  
  
Later on that night, she had gone downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of milk when she heard Logan and the Professor return from town. Both had disappeared shortly after dinner, not giving any notice to any of the students about where they were going. As she contemplated grabbing one of Cook's famous snickerdoodles from one of the cookie jars, she had heard Logan lamenting over not being able to pick up on 'it' as soon they got to the scene. The Professor's response was muffled behind the walls between the kitchen and the hallway. All she could make out was something to the effect of "We'll have Hank look at you.."  
  
P  
  
Curious, Rogue went to bed that night, making a mental note to talk to Logan the following morning. She had never heard Logan sound this concerned before. Whatever it was, it surely had to be serious. Logan was not one to rattle easily. However, by the time she was awake and dressed for school, her ears picked up on the familiar growl of Logan's motorcycle speeding away from the mansion.  
  
P  
  
Rogue nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a brisk rapping sound outside of the passenger's side window. She turned her head in response. Her eyes narrowed as soon as she figured who was responsible. Quickly, she rolled down the window.  
  
P  
  
"What do ya want?" she demanded, staring up at the smug-faced Gambit. Much to her irritation, he was wearing that perpetual Cheshire cat smile. His thick, auburn hair was covered in fallen snow, making him look annoyingly endearing. As usual, he was wearing his long, leather trench coat, which was buttoned up to keep the cold out.  
  
P  
  
"Sorry for scarin' you, chère," he drawled in his deep, husky voice. He lowered his bo-staff and leaned inside the window. "Nice car. Didn't know you and dat Cyclops were an item."  
  
P  
  
"We're just friends," she told him coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. That was all she needed---to be reminded how alone she was.  
  
P  
  
Gambit's red-on-black eyes glittered. "Good," he said softly under his breath, rubbing the soul patch above his chin.  
  
P  
  
She frowned at him. "What was that?"  
  
P  
  
"Nothing, chère," he replied, winking at her. Then he said, "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"  
  
P  
  
She brushed a few tendrils of white from her eyes. "We got let out early. What are ya doin' here? Magneto kicked ya sorry butt out of wherever it is he lives?"  
  
P  
  
The tall Cajun chuckled at her attempt to be petulant. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed to make her all that more attractive. Her lower lip and chin quivered together in unison as she tossed insult after insult at him. "Non, Gambit just wanderin', dat's all."  
  
P  
  
"Ah wouldn't if Ah were ya," Rogue warned, pale skin appearing opalescent from the sunlight that refracted off the snow.  
  
P  
  
Gambit leaned further through the window, his nose tickled by her soft hair. "Why dat be, chère?" he inquired.  
  
P  
  
Instinctively, she pulled away. While the thought of brushing against him briefly intrigued her, she quickly reminded herself as to who he was and what he represented. I He would hurt if he had the chance. You have no idea what he's up to. Keep you guard up. /I Looking into his demon-like eyes, there was something compelling her to be vulnerable for a moment.  
  
P  
  
The Southern native cleared her throat. "It's just not safe, is all."  
  
P  
  
"Gambit can handle any thieves dey got here in town. New Orleans a rougher city dan dis place."  
  
P  
  
"Ah'm not talkin' about that."  
  
P  
  
"Den?"  
  
P  
  
"Ya haven't heard about those mutants bein' killed?"  
  
P  
  
"Gambit read 'bout dat in de paper."  
  
P  
  
"Well, then ya know it ain't safe to be alone on the streets, especially at night."  
  
P  
  
"Gambit didn't know you cared, chère."  
  
P  
  
Rogue scowled at him. "Ah don't," she managed through gritted teeth. Trust the Cajun to turn a genuine warning into an opportunity for him to act like a jerk. "It's just that Ah don't like the thought of anyone gettin' killed.. Even you."  
  
P  
  
Gambit's smile deepened. "Dat hard to believe, chère," he said huskily.  
  
P  
  
She narrowed her green eyes again, not bothering to provide a retort.  
  
P  
  
"Oh come now, chère. Don' be upset. You're such an unhappy girl already," he observed, his gloved fingers tilting her chin so that she was facing him. While he thought she was quite pretty when she was mad, he hated to see her gloomy. His father always said the most painful thing a man could ever experience was being responsible for a femme's melancholy.  
  
P  
  
The young girl pulled away from his touch as if burned like a flame. While his expression was empathic, there was a part of her cautioning not to take anything he said to her at face value. "Ah don't need ya to tell me how Ah feel," she said coolly, blowing a lock of white hair from her forehead. "Anyway, Ah might not like ya, but that doesn't mean Ah want ya dead."  
  
P  
  
He chuckled again, watching her bristle again. "Well, you don' need to worry, Rogue. Gambit can take care of himself."  
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?" Her brows furrowed together in confusion.  
  
P  
  
The tall, lean young man reached into his inside coat pocket. At first, she thought he was going to show her another deck of cards and make some kind of stupid crack. What he revealed was a stainless steel sharpened blade. The handle was made from a cast metal pommel with an antique- finish, wood handgrip. Included was a sheath with solid metal tip and collar, genuine leather wrap and straps, brass finished fittings and buckle.  
  
P  
  
"Where'd ya get that?" Rogue asked, still finding herself in awe of the elegant knife the Cajun held in his hand. She had never seen anything so beautiful and dangerous.  
  
P  
  
Gambit covered the sharp blade with the protective sheath. "Got in de Bayou," he replied, slipping the knife back inside his coat. "All de brothers got one.. And you t'ought Gambit be showing you a card trick, chère."  
  
P  
  
Inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had managed to catch himself as he was about say Thieves Guild. No sense in introducing an aspect of his past at this time. The girl did not trust him as it was, in spite of all the charm he was using. Unlike most females he came across, Rogue seemed willfully resistant to him.  
  
P  
  
Rogue's expression softened. "Well, it's good to see ya can handle yerself," she said quietly, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.  
  
P  
  
Scott buttoned up his brown corduroy car coat he was wearing over his charcoal-colored sweater with a Fair Isle pattern and gray wool slacks. Tucked under one arm was a paper bag filled with his purchases. Unfortunately, he was not able to find anymore salt for the driveway. Briskly walking to his parked car and Rogue, he paused in surprise. His lips formed a tight line when he saw Gambit leaning inside his car.  
  
P  
  
"Gambit," he said in a flat voice.  
  
P  
  
Magneto's Acolyte straightened to his full height, which made him a couple of inches taller than Scott. A smirk replaced the almost tender smile he had been wearing earlier with Rogue. He tapped the snow-covered ground with his bo-staff tauntingly. Then he turned to Rogue, who was sliding in her seat slightly.  
  
P  
  
"Au revoir, chère," he said, bowing down and winking. "Perhaps we meet again, non?" Quickly, he walked away from the car and disappeared.  
  
P  
  
Scott circled around the car and opened the driver's side door. Rogue had her back turned to him as she rolled up the window. She motioned for him to hand her the bag so she could hold it in her lap. He complied, raising a brow at her.  
  
P  
  
"He wasn't bothering you, was he?" Scott inquired, starting the engine.  
  
P  
  
"Not too much," Rogue muttered, staring out the window. 


End file.
